


All Things Sacred

by Valhella



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Medical Torture, Psychological Torture, Recovered Memories, Winter Soldier AU though not necessarily MCU compliant, you don't have to have seen any of the Marvel movies but if you notice any easter eggs kudos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valhella/pseuds/Valhella
Summary: "Nicolo?" Joe gasps. Wants to say it again, shout it into existence even though he cannot know it to be true.Then Nicky, his Nicky or perhaps a cruel trick of the light says in Nicky's voice, "Who the hell is Nicolo?".Seventy eight years after an op gone south results in Nicky’s death, Joe still finds himself reeling, until the arrival of a new immortal resurges the team’s hope. Maybe Nicky did survive the fall. And if he did...why doesn’t he know who any of them are?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 240
Kudos: 673





	1. selenite green

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna be honest with all of you, this idea came to me in a literal fever dream in the middle of the night. i've unfortunately managed to catch COVID so i'm isolated to the max - so in the next few weeks that I'm stuck in my house, I hope I'll be able to churn something out worthwhile.
> 
> within the context of this fic, it's a winter soldier AU in that nicky is abducted and brainwashed by an organization alike in multiple ways to hydra, but that's where it ends, so it's not necessarily compliant to the MCU. i just cherrypicked what i liked from TWS and melded it into here. 
> 
> no particular warnings apply in this chapter except the occasional violence, but i'll keep you guys updated as the story continues. enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a mission to extract the latest immortal, Joe swears he sees a familiar face.

Joe shifts from where he's perched on a large rock, angling his sketchbook against his knee a little better so he comfortably trace the moonrise in front of him. Lets himself slip into one last minute of peace before they're set to raid and retrieve the children locked in the remote warehouse just below them.

He chuckles to himself quietly when he hears that voice so clearly in his head, softer than any prayer, gentler than any poem.

_You're always looking at it like it's the first time, hayaat qalbee._

Feels his eyes crinkle with the knowledge of how he'd respond. _If that is so, then you are my moonrise, habibi._

Then a separate thought, one he knows he will never be able to tell Nicolo. 

_300,000 moonrises with you weren't enough. 300,000 more wouldn't be enough, either._

It's real, so real that for a moment he feels the ghost of the words forming on his lips. Nicky would always call him an incurable romantic anyways. A poet, though he couldn't quite help it. 

"Joe?" he hears from behind him. Turns and finds Andy as towering and lithe as day they first met. "Are you ready?"

He offers her a smile that does not reach his eyes. "Always, boss."

.

The train ride to Paris isn't exactly luxurious, but sharing his space with cargo will be worth the quiet week they'll be spending at the safe house, Joe thinks.

His scimitar, rid of as much blood as he could manage, sits next to Andy's labyrs. Maybe it's the fatigue, but when Joe glances at it, he still hears the screams from four hours ago; sees the blood of terrible men and the kind, grateful eyes of those they terrorized.

He's got his sketchbook out, not drawing anything new - just flipping through pages of fond memories, tracing over them as if the action would manifest them somehow. Across from him, Andy ungracefully leans her entire body against a hollow box, and Booker drools into his hand. Joe takes a minute to shake his head fondly before flipping the page. He feels his smile slip, and stares down at it for a moment, at the page he just happened upon. He never took the time, at least not these days, to color anything in. But underneath the rough grey lines he can see the bright, selenite green of Nicolo's eyes. 

He feels himself drifting off, feels the book drop at his side as his arms go limp, and spends that last second of consciousness praying that his dreams would be just that - selenite green. A half smile. The salty air of a beach in Malta.

Instead he jerks himself awake and instinctively reaches for the book. Hears himself breathing heavily; blinks the sleep out of his eyes and finds Andy doubled over across from him. Sees Booker with one hand to his heart, the other trembling against his forehead. Joe wastes no time, just flips to an empty page of his book and begins to sketch.

"A woman, a black woman," Andy breathes out. "She can't have been older than 25." A pause. "She's just a baby."

"Army," Booker offers. Holds out his hand without thinking to make an unhelpful gesture. "I saw a name tag. Freeman." 

Joe continues to sketch, now from his own memory; finds himself drawing just that, a baby. Eyes wide and imploring. Beautiful. Completely undeserving.

When he's done, he carefully rips it out and hands it to Andy, who nods her head once. 

"We have to find her," Joe is the first to say. 

Andy observes the silence. Booker lets out a dejected sigh and says, "Joe." Just that, but the message translates properly.

"We have to," Joe repeats firmly. "It's either us or them. Don't sit there and tell me we don't owe her a chance."

Booker doesn't argue. Just sags and pulls out his laptop before Andy even says anything.

"Look through every database that matches her description," is what she ends up saying. "Find her."

.

They safe house will be there when you return, Joe reminds himself, as they find themselves landing at O Hare airport after a very unpleasant fifteen hour flight. 

It hadn't taken Booker long to track down their Nile, who they learn is a cadet at a training station just north of Chicago. As far as trespassing, a fortified military base didn't exactly make for a quick job, but Joe's been through worse. 

The three of them end up in an unassuming rental with Booker in the driver's seat, Andy in the passenger's, and Joe in the backseat, left to stare at the interstate. An hour into the ride, Andy looks over her shoulder, waiting for Joe's eyes to meet her's.

"Hey," she says when they do. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Andy wasn't the sentimental type, never had been in the near millennia Joe has known her, and he appreciates the effort, but can't find himself to respond just yet.

What Andy doesn't say, and by extension Booker as well, is that it had never really been just the three of them since that fateful winter of 1942. It had been three of them plus a ghost. Three of them plus the absence of Nicky's laughter at the dinner table. Three of them plus the unspoken words of affirmation before every mission. Joe plus a cold, unforgiving empty space next to him every day for the past 78 years. 

He finds his words. "Always, boss."

.

As far as plans go, Joe thinks this barely even qualifies as one. But they'd only had a little over 24 hours to plan, all three of them have already assumed the disguises of three very unlucky cadets who Andy managed to knock out and Booker had already wrestled information from an equally unlucky cadet about Nile's location (before knocking him out, as well).

Andy has already laid out an equally improvised plan to steal a jeep and disappear successfully into the night before giving three firm knocks on Nile's door. Nile answers, a near perfect replica of Joe's drawing, and her eyes go wide as they bounce between their name tags and their faces.

"Freeman?" Andy demands. "Nile Freeman?"

"Who's asking?" Nile grits out.

Andy smirks and spares a glance at Joe, who already knows what she's thinking. _She's got potential._

"Come with us," Booker said. "We don't have time to explain."

Nile scoffs and stands her ground. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

"OK," Andy shrugs. "So we'll do this the hard way. Joe, take my six." 

She swiftly manages to knock Nile in one quick motion, just as Nile yells, "Hey- what-"

Then Andy's got her in a fireman's lift, all four of them making their way out the building as quickly as they can; Booker aims and shoots for the cameras and Joe takes out several soldiers shouting towards Andy, feels a bullet or maybe two push its way of his torso as he does so.

"You okay?" Andy shouts from in front of him, as they barely manage to sprint across. 

"Right behind you, boss!" Joe reassures. 

In the next couple of minutes they're loading Nile into the back of the jeep, struggling over the sounds of multiple security alarms. 

Then it happens: a blast that sends shockwaves through the ground, too loud and too violent that Joe immediately rules out it having come from inside the base. It sends several cadets, previously after them, flying through the air. Joe feels debris land on his face and blinks smoke out of his eyes. Tries to focus his vision on Andy, Booker, on Nile...

Then he feels what feels like a sword run through his abdomen, just missing his heart enough that he can almost feel the wound closing up again. Joe gasps nonetheless as he hears Booker scream "Hey!" before he takes a bullet to the head, crumpling over in temporary lifelessness. 

"Joe?" Andy yells from somewhere. "Book - get to the jeep -"

Joe hears her gasp then, finding her on the ground with a knife wound just under her chest as the dust clears. Joe lifts himself up off the ground cautiously, watching in near disbelief as their assailant - who as of right now, is someone Joe can make out to be a man clad in all-black with a mask over his nose and mouth and a hood just over his eyes - aim his gun towards the locked door of the jeep. 

'No!" Joe shouts, feeling his wound close entirely as he tackles their assailant to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hand. The man barely staggers, lifts himself up immediately to throw a punch in Joe's direction that he manages to deflect. They end up like this for the next minute or so, fighting on the remnants of the base. Joe feels himself tire. This man, whoever he is, matches every move Joe has spent the last 900 years perfecting. It makes no sense. He thinks about it still as he tackles the man a second time, managing to pull down the mask shielding his face as he swiftly reaches for the gun he had dropped. 

Feels a chill settle in his spine as the man finds himself on his feet again, his own gun trained on him in Joe's quivering hands. 

No. This can't be. He blinks and thinks he sees selenite green. Tastes the sea salt of Malta. 

"Nicolo?" Joe gasps. Wants to say it again, shout it into existence even though he cannot know it to be true.

Then Nicky, his Nicky or perhaps a cruel trick of the light says in Nicky's voice, "Who the hell is Nicolo?"

"Joe!" he hears Andy scream from behind him.

It's enough to throw him off for a split second, but that's all it takes. He's disarmed, and the last thing he hears is Andy scream his name one more time. The last thing he sees is Nicky aim the gun at his forehead.

Then everything is black.


	2. seventy eight years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile pushes the team for the truth about Nicky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for giving this story a chance! I've found it fun to write because the words come to me very naturally. Probably because a winter soldier AU for these two just kind of MAKES sense (or to me it does, at least).

"So are any of you ready to tell me who Nicky is, and why Joe goes through the seven stages of grief every time his name is brought up?" Nile says.

They're in the safe house just a couple of hours north of Paris, gathered around the dinner table for a hastily slapped together substitute of dinner courtesy of Booker, but there is a silence between the three of them that Nile cannot bear to stand. Joe is outside, just out of earshot, sketching away on the safe house's porch. He'd passed on dinner and spent the entire time shooting Andy dirty looks as she practically forced him to stomach lunch. Her first week as an immortal has consisted of training and to a lesser extent, eavesdropping on the hushed, purposefully foreign conversations between the three others where she's _sure_ she's heard the name Nicky at least once or Nicolo if it's Joe's time to push back on whatever Andy's saying. What any of them had failed to consider is that Nile did take French in high school with the intent of actually learning it, so she's able to make out Booker saying _you couldn't have seen him, Joe. You know it's impossible,_ before catching Nile's eye and changing the conversation entirely, which Nile _gets._ "Don't try to scare the newbie away" is the kind of mantra that transcends centuries. But still...

Andy sets her fork down in too much of a _can-we-please-just-sit-and-have-a-nice-dinner-for-once_ type of way. Nile continues, unfazed. "All I'm saying is that you abducted me a week ago, and in my considerably inexperienced opinion, I don't think I've given you guys too much of a hard time." 

At that Booker finds it in himself to laugh, just slightly, because if Nile considers escaping from the jeep's trunk _twice_ on top of almost crash-landing their safe house-bound plane "not giving them too much of a hard time", they're in for an exciting few centuries. 

In the seven days since they've met, Nile thinks Andy's completely run dry of smart alecky excuses in place of answers. "Nicky...he and Joe, they..." Andy catches Nile's expectant gaze and pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes, opens them for a split second and says with them _Christ, where do I even begin?_

"He was like us," Booker interjects. He can barely hold any eye contact. "Like you. We lost him. Seventy-eight years ago this December."

"Lost him?" Nile questions. "What do you mean 'lost'?"

"We were running an op in the Alps," Andy manages to say. "On good intel that a train bound for Austria was carrying several individuals we would have preferred to have seen dead. We underestimated the amount of explosives the train was carrying. None of us could tell you what happened next. It all happened so fast..." Andy clenches her fists, and when she releases them, Nile can see the nail marks on her palms from across the table. "All Nicky had to hold on to was the railing to the side. Joe reached out, as far as he could from where he was hanging. But Nicky, he...he fell."

_And he never got back up,_ is what Andy doesn't say. 

Booker somberly adds, "Joe has blamed himself every day since." 

"But...we're immortal," Nile says before immediately acknowledging the naiveté of the sentiment. 

"We're immortal," Booker explains. "Until we're not. One day it just sort of...runs out."

"It was Nicky's time," Andy says.

"So what, that's it?" Nile says. "You just gave up on him?"

If that offends Andy, she does little to let it show. "We didn't give up on anybody. If he had survived that fall, he would have done anything in the world to find us. To find Joe. If it took days, if it took weeks. If it took years."

"Maybe something happened," Nile counters. "Maybe not all of him healed. Maybe he lost his memory." 

"Unlikely," Andy shoots down. "We've all had our share of head trauma over the years. Every bit of us heals. Unless all of us doesn't."

"But why would Joe just hallucinate him? A man lost to you for seventy-right years, right in the middle of an op? It doesn't make sense," Nile argues. 

"Grief plays tricks on you, _ma chérie_ ," Booker says. He's fishing out his flask now. "You're so young. You've yet to know."

"Grief and I are old friends," Nile says instantly. She takes care to make sure each word is rooted in absolute certainty. "And it doesn't matter how long any of us get on this Earth. We can't bury it, at least not entirely. We're not invincible. Nobody is." 

Andy and Booker exchange a look that Nile can't quite read. Its a flicker of something sad but hopeful at the same time. 

"What?" Nile says, eyes darting between the two of him. 

"Nothing," Andy says, though her eyes tell a different story. "Just that you sound a lot like him. Like Nicky." 

Nile considers that. For the first time she stops and thinks about how she's already envisioned lifetimes spent with these three people within _days_ , and how strange it would be for all of that to come crashing down, entirely out of her control. How that's what happened with Nicky. How they'd never really be able to come back from it, but they had to, they have to be strong because there's no other way to _be._

"It's our pain," Andy says ruminatively. "Our loss. We don't have to share it with you. We'll protect you." 

Before she can stop herself, Nile says, "Like you protected Nicky?" 

Andy says nothing to that. Just feebly attempts to share a glance with Booker, who suddenly seems taken by the cracks in the dining table. Nile pushes herself away from the table, making her way across to the safe house's entrance. 

.

Nile finds Joe right where they had left him, on the porch of the safe house, back to the wall, legs splayed out, pencil between his teeth as he flips through the pages of his sketchbook. 

"Not hungry?" she asks him. "Come on, Booker's cooking can't be that bad." 

Joe looks at her then, and Nile feels like she's known him the entire time she's been on the planet, wonders what it is about his eyes or perhaps the way they crinkle that immediately told her when they had first met that he was to be trusted. That he was her friend. 

"Thanks for being my guinea pig," he says, flashing her a small smile before returning to his sketchbook. "But I think I'll have to pass."

She settles next to him. "Then I hope you don't mind if I join you." 

"Booker always says misery loves company," is his response, without looking up.

They sit there a moment. It's so quiet, unusually so for a summer night, but Nile doesn't mind and Joe doesn't seem to either. "Does it get easier?" she eventually asks. Doesn't elaborate because _what the hell else could she possibly mean?_

For a minute Nile thinks she's overstepped, especially because Joe doesn't immediately respond. But when she looks up at him, she sees wheels turn in his brain through his eyes, sees him then and there searching for an answer he thinks will appease her. She appreciates it.

"Of course not," Joe says. "But we make things easier for each other. And sometimes that's good enough."

Warmth finds its way up her spine at that, and she knows its not the summer heat.

"Tell me about Nicky," she says after a beat.

Joe heaves a sigh as he sets the sketchbook aside and sticks his pencil behind his ear. "Where to start. Well, he cooked like a dream. Had the grace of a swan in any fight, but two left feet otherwise." Suddenly the corners of his lips take an upwards turn. "We met during the Crusades."

"The _Crusades_?" Nile repeats, making a mental note to bother him with more questions about it later.

"Yes. We killed each other." His smile goes impossibly wide considering the horror he'd just described. " _Many_ times."

_Okay,_ Nile things, _that's one for the books_. She's surprised to find herself smiling with Joe now too, enjoying the silence a moment more before Nile quietly remarks, "Andy and Booker, they, uh. They told me about what happened." 

Quiet again, this time uncomfortably. Nile doesn't know what to do but sees her hand waver in the air, reaching out to Joe's shoulderagainst her better judgement before he speaks up again.

"All I had to do," Joe finally gets out, voice dangerously low, "was hold him." In each word Nile thinks she feels the piercing winds of winter on a speeding train, and for a moment is angry on Joe's behalf at the mockery of it all. The way he had to lose someone in a manner so cold and unforgiving, and in weather equally so.

It all becomes apparent then to Nile, or perhaps just more apparent than before. She doesn't stop herself as she says, "Nicky...he's-"

"My moon when I was lost in darkness," Joe finishes for her. "My warmth when I would shiver in cold. More to me than I could possibly have ever dreamed. All. And more." 

"And you think he's alive." it's barely a question. Nile doesn't even know what it is or what kind of answer she should expect.

Joe heaves a sigh. "I think," he chooses his words carefully, "that grief corrupts us in ways we will never understand. Forces us to see things that aren't there-" he chokes on a sob and doesn't continue. 

His voice is laced in so much pain that Nile doesn't immediately observe that the repetition of Bookers own words. But when she does, Nile just nods and leaves it that. She has lifetimes left to understand Joe. For them to understand each other. She barely takes a moment of consideration before regarding it as a pro against the mounting cons of her new life.

Her hand finds its way to his shoulder, after all. 

.

Nile gasps herself awake. Echoes the horrific screams in a way where she is unable to even recognize her own voice. Feels pleading words and begs and gasps on the tip of her tongue before she acknowledges her surroundings. She's in the safe house. She's _safe._ But the man in her dreams is not. 

Booker slowly focuses into her line of vision, on his knees with a gun trained in her position. Andy is on her feet, and Joe is propped on one elbow, the other perched perfectly in reach of his scimitar. 

"Just a nightmare," Nile explains apologetically. _A terrible one, one so real and so visceral that I can't see myself falling back asleep after this,_ she leaves unsaid. "M'sorry."

Joe rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes. "No, it's okay. Tell us."

Nile barely knows how to begin and feels so guilty reducing this man's misery to something less of an anecdote. "It was...a man. He was in pain. I felt it. I..."

"It can't be another one," Andy interrupts. "It's too soon."

At that Joe finds himself sitting up. Remembers in his fatigue that he hadn't dreamt of anybody else either. 

"He was tied down to this table. Or chair, it was more like..." Nile continues, struggling to find her words. "He's in a lab, surrounded. He was screaming through a guard in his mouth. He felt like something hopeless. Like something furious. But it was almost like they couldn't hear him. Or if they did, and they just didn't care."

"What did he look like?" Joe asks carefully.

Nile doesn't answer immediately.

"Nile," he says, softer now. There's something laced in his voice now, something tentative, something cautious. "What did he look like?"

"He was...he had brown hair, mousy brown hair," she finds the words before she can stop herself. "And his eyes....they were so big, so bright." A pause. "The color of sea foam." 

Joe is on his feet before she's even finished speaking and across the room before Andy and Booker manage to exchange glances. Digs through his rucksack in way that is very unlike him. He hands her a strip of paper no bigger than the palm of her hand, and Nile is surprised to find herself looking down at a picture. An original print, judging by its sepia tone. In her hands she feels the weight of its lifetime, in every crease she observes a story. Thinks of the years it had spent in Joe's own hands, in Joe's pockets, in Joe's rucksack. 

It's a man, staring at her through time. He has a barely-there smile that he almost doesn't need because the kindness in his eyes is enough. His eyes, which she's almost sure could be...

"Was it him?" That's Andy now. 

"Yes," she breathes out finally. 

The sound Joe lets out is one Nile has never heard before. 

"Is..." she doesn't know how ask the question. "Is this-"

Andy says "our Nicky", at the same time Booker says "Nicolas."

But Nile's eyes settle on Joe's, refusing to leave them, not at least until he is able to form the word, form the name.

"Nicolo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and with that, the next few chapters are hopefully going to jump right into the action! next up: we find out where Nicky is, and what he's been up to the past 78 years...


	3. 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1942, Nicky falls from the train in the Alps and into the wrong hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody for sticking around thus far! 
> 
> A few warnings in this chapter for violence and torture, specifically medical torture. Nothing too explicit. Regardless, please heed the warnings.

_**December 1942**_  
  
Joe never considered himself a morning person. But waking up to a half-naked Nicolo with his legs on either side of his torso, well...he may be open to negotiation.

"Good morning, hayaat qalbee." 

Joe revels in the soft kisses on his eyelids, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before groaning. " _For you_."

Nicky chuckles at that. "Come on. Booker and Andy are waiting. Recon's not far from here."

With a burst of strength that surprises even him, Joe suddenly has Nicky under him, and he lowers his mouth to just behind Nicky's ear. "Five minutes wouldn't kill them," he says between kisses.

Nicky rolls his eyes. "You and I both know it wouldn't take us five minutes." 

"I thought you had more faith in me, habibi," Joe says from above him.

"Always," Nicky promises.

Joe lets out a soft exhale, reconnects his mouth to Nicky's neck, slowly but surely making his way towards his chest to the hairs of his lower abdomen before realizing that in all this time, Nicky had been holding on to what appeared to be a very thin, small envelope. 

"What is this," Joe says in a sing-song voice, gently wrestling it from Nicky's hand. Rips through the seal in his curiosity to find...a photograph of Nicky. It couldn't have been taken that long ago. Perhaps when Nicky and Booker had found themselves downtown on an afternoon that Joe had decided to sleep in, because he can't remember him and Nicky being away from each other in the last several weeks. 

Joe observes the picture for a moment longer, absorbs the image of Nicky clad in one of his casual shirts, his lips tight in a curt smile that reaches his eyes. 

Joe looks up. "Nicolo, what is this?" 

"Something to remember me by," Nicky teasingly says, but the tone of his voice tells a different story. 

Joe quirks an eyebrow and Nicky relents, explaining, "Well, Andy and I are bound for Innsbruck after today, and then it will be a week, perhaps two before we see each other. Booker and I came across one of those studios yesterday in Zurich and the fee was only minimal. He thought it would be....amusing. And I didn't think it would be a terrible idea." He shrugs. "It's what the kids do nowadays." 

Joe can't help it, and lets out a hearty laugh, resting his chin on Nicky's chest for a second before burying his face in it. " _Cuore mio."_

Nicky smiles through reddened cheeks. "You think it's silly."

"No!" Joe protests. "No, it's just...you say _I'm_ the incurable romantic."

Nicky runs his fingers through Joe's curl in response. "Can't we both be?" he leans forward, and Joe opens his mouth to welcome the kiss with ease. The kiss lasts shorter than Joe would like before Nicky parts, pressing one last, quick peck on Joe's forehead as he says, "Come on. I promised Andy we wouldn't miss breakfast."

"Of course you did," Joe grumbles. He shifts to the side and watches Nicky leap from the bed before stuffing the photo into the inner pocket of his rucksack.

.

Nicky is freezing. Cold in a way he never imagined possible, cold in a way where he asks god why he punishes him so. Doesn't remember anything except Joe and his beautiful artist's hands, outstretched in unforgiving winds as he pleads with Nicky to hold on. 

He is cold, but his throat feels like it's on fire. Burns as he takes in a mouthful of snow when he screams Joe's name, burns even more when he begs Joe not to let go. _How could he let go, Nicolo_ , he thinks to himself. _He isn't even holding you._

It doesn't stop him. Come _on, Nicolo,_ he chastises himself. _He's only there. Just a little farther_. 

He thinks the railing breaks, but he isn't sure. Thinks he hears Joe's screams, broken and loud and animalistic, but perhaps that's just his imagination, too.

He does remember screaming Joe's name again, begging for him, for his hayaat qalbee, thinking of Joe and the way he had laughed that morning as ice fills every crevice in his body. 

When Nicky wakes he is still reaching out. Or at least, he thinks he is. It takes him an agonizing minute to realize that his arm isn't outstretched, no, it can't be, because he can't even move it. He's immobilized, almost completely, just cranes his neck slightly to look for Joe and says through a mouthful of cotton, "Joe?" so quietly it goes unheard. 

" _He's awake,"_ a gruff voice responds in...what could it be? German, probably. Very little registered.

"Dove sono," Nicky says. "Dove sono... _?"_ He wants to call Joe's name out again, this time louder, wants to ask for his Yusuf so badly, but he stops himself, bites his tongue, does not give these people _anything_.

He blinks and realizes just then that he isn't cold anymore, that he isn't snow-blinded. Realizes his arms are strapped down on either side of him, his legs as well, almost in a perversion of how Yusuf had him pinned down to the bed that morning. _Was it that morning?_

_How long had he been out?_

_"_ Nicky Smith." a different voice now. A man's in accented German. 

Nicky looks up and meets the man's bespectacled eyes. They are are as cold and blue as the ice on the train.

"Or shall I call you Nicolo?" the man continues in English. "Which would you prefer?"

Nicky manages a humorless laugh and tastes the familiar, coppery tang of blood. "I'd prefer if you would untie me."

The left side of the man's lip quirks upwards. "I am afraid that cannot be so."

Nicky feels his fists clench on either side of him. Thinks to himself, _If i could break at least one of my wrists, just like I did in Athens the summer of '26-_

"You have been given a gift, Nicolo," the man says, circling around Nicky like a predator around its prey, "and I intend to harness it. For the betterment of my people. For the betterment of the world."

As the man continues on with his intentions, Nicky considers asking them to put him back under, because as far as evil villain monologues go, this is a verbal anesthetic. It's a terrible justification and he's heard it so many times before. But he's still very unaware of his surroundings. Just knows that he is a lab, judging by the coats adorned by the men and women around him, somewhere in Austria or perhaps Germany; and that pain is pain, immortal or not, and these people might not be so forgiving to his quick wit. 

_Sometimes_ , Booker's voice echoes in the back of his head, _you are as unforgiving with your words as you are with your sword, Nicolas._

_Joe rubs off on you in the best ways,_ Andy justifies.

When the man is finished, Nicky settles on responding with, "I am afraid I cannot help you."

The man, whose back had been turned on Nicky up until the, turns to face him. "Then _I_ am afraid we are at an impasse, Nicolo," he contends. "Because I am not asking your permission."

At that, he nods at the person closest to him, who begins sanitizing what looks to be some sort of drill. The man leaves, the slam of the door on his way out unusually loud. As Nicky stares at the ceiling, he thinks of that morning, if it ever was _just_ that morning, of Yusuf, of his smile, of thousands of smiles before that morning, and he closes his eyes. 

.

_**July 2020** _

"He's unstable," somebody says from Merrick's right. "Erratic." 

If Merrick hears that, he doesn't respond. Only turns to Keane and says, "I thought we had the situation under control."

"We did," Keane assures. "Scoped out the area three hours beforehand and found few if no potential deterrents. But he was...intercepted. It required an immediate extraction."

"And what, pray tell, would require an immediate extraction?"

"Mission report indicates there were three others," Keane explains. 

Merrick scoffs. "An army of three?" 

"Three others like...him."

Merrick tenses. "So on top of losing another potential asset, we've practically handed her gift wrapped to opposing forces."

A terrible silence falls over the room. Then Merrick crosses over to where the asset sits, where's he's settled in a chair, tied down with his eyes downcast like they have been every night for seventy eight years. Merrick stares down at him like an insect. "Mission report," he commands, as he levels himself with the asset and sits in front of him, attempting to meet his gaze.

The asset doesn't respond, which earns him a backhand. " _Mission report_ ," Merrick spits out again.

"The man at the base," the asset says, gaze averted still, this time not from fear but from confusion, from disbelief. Like he was trying to think outside of orders. Like he was trying to...remember. "Who was he?" 

Merrick says nothing, probably because there's no real way to even answer the question. 

"I knew him," the asset continues. 

"He was sent to deter your mission," Merrick is finally able to say. "But you must remember the task at hand. You've been very helpful thus far. The girl you've dreamt of...she has fallen into the hands of the enemy. We must work to find not only her, but the rest of them." 

The asset doesn't respond.

"Your work has been a gift to mankind," Merrick continues. "You have shaped the century. And we need you to do it one more time. If you can't do your part, we can't do ours."

For the first time that night, and perhaps in years, the asset looks Merrick straight in the eye. " _Ma lo conoscevo_."

Merrick pushes his chair out from under him. "Wipe him," he orders.

There is little hesitation as the asset is surrounded. He opens his mouth, takes the guard in willingly in spite of his unanswered questions as a device is fitted on either side of his head. 

"And you," he's speaking to Keane now. "Put me in contact with Copley."

Keane nods in his direction and follows behind him as the terrible, familiar sounds of the asset's screams resound around the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this seems confusing I promise everything's gonna be explained in following chapters, including how Nicky fell into Merrick's hands in the first place. 
> 
> Some translations:  
> hayaat qalbee: life of my heart  
> dove sono: where am i?  
> ma lo conoscevo: but i knew him
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	4. ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the team struggles to find Nicky, Booker reveals a shocking secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading, thank you very much and I appreciate it! 
> 
> So this where I start to take a LOT of liberty with TWS. You'll notice original characters I created to fill in the gaps but the premise is more or less the same, so here's your warning for violence, although it's nothing too graphic, just talk of torture under medical experimentation.

"He's alive," are the first words out of Joe's mouth as he snatches the photograph out of Nile's hands and makes his way back across the room, picking up his rucksack as he hastily shoves his belongings into it. "The man at the base. I knew it. I knew it from the start. Nicky's alive." 

"Joe," that's Andy's voice, unusually high, unusually frail, "wait."

"Wait," Joe scoffs under his breath. "What the hell are all of you doing, just standing there?"

"Where will we go?" Andy demands.

Joe barks out an incredulous sound, waves a hand in the air. "The base, where we saw him last."

"You know we can't," Andy contends sadly. "Its crawling with officials by now. Don't forget, they're still after Nile."

"I don't care," Joe proclaims. 

"We need to think this through," Andy implores him, "we need to think of a plan."

"We don't have time to just sit around and wait !" Joe bellows, turning to face all three of them. "That's all we've been doing isthinking this through. Wasting our time mourning him when we should have been looking for him in the first place-“ he bites back tears quickly, struggles to recompose.

"I can't believe I let any of you convince me I was wrong,” Joe rattles on, as if none of them were there. “Convince me that I was just seeing things, letting my imagination run wild when it made no _sense-_ “

"Because the Nicky we know, our Nicky, he would never do what he did on that base," Andy points out.

"We don't know that," argues Joe. "We don't know what they've done to him."

"He tried to kill you," Nile reminds him. "He tried to kill all of you. Whoever that was...it wasn't Nicky. Not the Nicky you know, anyway."

"I don't care," Joe hisses. "Whoever he is he is alone, and he is scared. And if he doesn't remember us, if he doesn't remember..." he blinks tears out of his eyes at the thought, "if he doesn't remember me...we have to find him. We have to help him."

Joe fires a quick glance at Booker, at his brother-in-arms, at his brother period, with whom he could exchange entire thoughts with only a look."Tell her, Booker."

But Booker is quiet, unusually so for somebody who has just discovered a missing man he has called his brother for the past two centuries tried to kill all of them a week ago. "Joe..." he says.

Joe turns again, shooting Booker another expectant look.

"Joe, stop," Booker instead pleads.

" _T'entends-tu parler, Sebastien?_ " Joe demands. "Pourquoi?"

"Because I think I know how to find him," Booker explains.

A terrible silence fills the room. For a full second, not a single one of them lets out a breath before Andy asks "What do you mean, you know how to find him?"

Booker sighs. "I think I know how to find Nicky," he reiterates, this time quietly. 

Joe sets his things down and finally stops packing to stare at Booker with imploring eyes. “Start talking.”

"There's a man in London. His name is Copley. James Copley. Former CIA, with ties to Steven Merrick,” Booker says.

"Wait, as in Merrick Pharmaceuticals?" asks Nile. "That company that was just in the news for running into some kind of ethical standoff with the WHO?"

"Yes," Booker confirms. "They've been undergoing clinical trials for years, trying to get their hands on the next big remedy, cure, drug, whatever....for Alzheimers, cancer, ALS, you name it," he waves a hand. "Hasn't had much luck in recent years, if any, but....Copley's onto them, knows their next step is to acquire individuals whose genome consists of 'remarkable capabilities'." _Finish speaking,_ Booker, he hears himself plead. _You owe it to them._

_You owe it to Nicolas._

"And Copley's onto us. He knows about us...about South Sudan last week. And Merrick might not be anything, but if he knows about us, then maybe there’s a chance he’d know about Nicky.” 

"And how do you know this, Book?" Andy asks softly, eyes unmistakably wet now. 

Booker looks up at her - at Nile, too young to be involved in any of this - at Joe, who heart's he's so sure he has now shattered into a million pieces. "Because I told him. Copley. About us." 

And just like that, before any of them are even able to register the gravity of Booker's words, the meaning behind them and what it could possibly mean for Nicky, Joe is across the room and on Booker, pinning him to the floor, one hand locked tight around his throat as the other comes away from his face, bloodied.

"You selfish piece of shit. You knew," Joe gets out, and he doesn't sound like Joe at all, sounds like something broken, like something fractured _-_ “You knew they had him, you knew they had my Nicky, _lo sapevi_ _, lo sapevi_ -"

"Joe!" That's Andy, quick to act like always. She's on him in half a second, iron grips on his shoulders as she uses her 6,000 year-old-strength to peel him off of Booker.

"Joe, stop!" Thats Nile now, in between the two of them, her hand planted firmly on Booker's chest as she uses the other to plead with Joe. "This gets us nowhere." 

"It gets us a knife in his throat," Joe screams, "again and again until I wrestle the last of life out of you. I'll kill you!"

"I didn't know," Booker promises, tastes the blood from his nose now spilling into his mouth. "I didn't know anything about Nicolas. _Credemi_ , Yusuf. _Credemi_."

"Don't you dare!" Joe screams from where Andy's got him pinned against the wall. "Don't you dare say his name!"

"I wanted to find a way to end it for us!" Booker says. "For all of us! A way for us to finally be free of our pain-"

"Do not act like you thought of us this whole time!" is Joe's grim retort.

"Then you do not act like you were above it all this time, Joe. You said it yourself," says Booker. "That if you could have joined Nicky in the Alps, you would have -"

"Seventy eight years ago! When we thought him to be dead! But now he isn't. He needs us, needs our help. And he might not even get it because you were too _selfish_ , too _cowardly_ -"

" _Enough_!" demands Andy, and its enough to shake even Nile, who up until then had only been clinging to Booker's front in an attempt to keep him from Joe. "Nile's right. This gets us nowhere."

Andy turns to Joe, hand still planted firmly on his chest. She stares at him, imploring, until he finally relents and meets her gaze. "We need him," she holds. "For Copley and Merrick. And we find a way to deal with this after." 

Joe stares at her for a moment, incredulous. Then he lets out one last exhale through his nose before he pushes Andy off him completely, nodding once in agreement. She returns the gesture.

Then she turns to Booker, still bloodied even though the bones in his nose have already reset. "And you," she adds. "Find us a flight to London and find it quickly. We find Copley before he finds us."

.

James Copley sits at his desk, staring at his walls in contention as he attempts - and fails - to justify his means for what feels like the thousandth time that day. Wonders if he has produced a death cure or perhaps condemned three people to an eternity of torture. Wonders if that will be his last thought, his last regret as an unwelcome sound finds its way into his living room. He isn’t expecting visitors, not today. Has Merrick grown tired of him? Has he sent the asset?

”Hello?" he calls out as he pushes himself away form his desk. Raises his eyebrows when a growing silhouette makes its way down his hall, becoming more familiar as a tuft of blonde hair reflects a stray patch of a sunlight in his living room.

"Sebastien," Copley breathes out in relief, but his face falls not a second later when he realizes he's flanked by two women, both armed. One he's almost sure could be...

"Andromache of Scythia," Copley says, doing nothing to hide his awe.

He whips around when he feels the weight on the floor behind him shift, comes face to face with - " _Yusuf Al-Kaysani._ "

"Hands up. Face Andy," Joe orders from where he's standing, both arms outstretched, his finger ghosting the trigger of his gun. 

Copley obliges. "And you must be?" he says in Nile's direction.

"New," is Nile's only response as she cocks her gun. 

Copley nods at that, keeps his arms up like he's told to, and turns ever so slightly to Booker. "Well done, Sebastien," he commends. "You've played both sides." 

Booker's face falls despite himself, but he offers no explanation.

"I suppose this is the part where I ask you what you want," Copley assesses. 

"Answers," says Joe from behind him, and Copley turns to him. Joe shifts onto one leg, slipping a hand into his left side pocket and produces a photograph. Nicky, December 1942. Though he can't help it, Joe's hand is shaking. "Do you know this man?"

Copley exhales through his nose. "Yes."

"What is his name?"

Copley considers what answer would appease them, because with the exception of the newbie, they're known the world over by multiple names. "Nicolo," he settles on. "Nicolo di Genova."

Joe closes his eyes briefly, perhaps to keep the tears at bay, but the relief in his face is evident.

“Why did he try to kill us last week?” Andy demands.

Copley sighs, stares at his feet for a second before turning back around to face Andy. “Because he is not Nicolo di Genova anymore. Or at least he hasn't been, not for the past seventy eight years.” Copley lowers his hands slightly, gestures towards Andy to ask permission to move, and she nods in his direction. He moves across the room to a board, flipping it from the bottom to reveal it is overflowing with old photographs, newspaper clippings, copies of passports, of drivers licenses and other forms of identification. Photos of Andy and Booker and Joe in recent decades that none of them knew were being taken as they were being taken.

At the centre of the board is Nicky. It's a photograph perhaps in need of a double take, but it's certainly him. Nowhere near in quality to the one he had gifted Joe, but this photograph is obviously a candid because Nicky is not even looking at the camera, because his smile…it’s huge, ear to ear, the kind he’s most likely to flash when he’s only in his family’s company, in Joe’s company. It’s Nicky at his essence. Joe struggles to remember where the picture could have even been taken. The last memories of Nicky so happy are all but clear. Perhaps their weekend in Zurich, or the day before an extraction in Strasbourg. It looks nothing like the Nicky from the base, whose hair reached his chin, whose beautiful selenite green eyes were caked in something ashy, something black. 

"In 1942 he fell off a train bound for Innsbruck,” Copley says, and his hand finds its way naturally to the board. “He never resurfaced and so you believed him dead. But rumors followed you _long_ before you boarded the train that morning. Rumors from Paris to Berlin to Zurich. After Nicolo fell, he was recovered north of Styria, several miles from a lab operated by one Elias Doppler.” Copley’s hand shifts to a black and white photograph now of a bespectacled man with furrowed brows and an unkind stare. “Doppler began a series of experiments once he was able to confirm Nicolo’s…condition. Three years later, after the war and the liberation of Austria, the lab was raided and Allied forces found Nicolo. But they also found Doppler's research.” Joe tenses at that, at the reminder that it never mattered the year, the decade or the century; never mattered what tragedy they managed to prevent or repair; humanity was only ever capable of rearing its ugly head, the one only capable of greed and corruption. Their immortality always dehumanized them, turned them into either monsters or assets, and Nicky, _his Nicolo_ , was testament to that.

"They enlisted the aid of a renowned doctor, Roland Merrick, in deciphering Doppler's notes," Copley continues. Joe forces himself to pay attention in his rage, and sees Copley pointing now at a different man, this one slightly older with a long, gaunt face, sunken eyes and dark hair. "Merrick grew impatient, grew tiresome, and when he discovered Doppler had the beginnings of a drug potent enough to instill memory loss for hours, days at a time, he harnessed it. Perfected it. Found other uses for his subject.”

“Merrick brainwashed him,” Booker realizes aloud. It’s the first thing he’s said all afternoon. “Turned him into some kind of killing machine.”

Copley moves closer to the board and hovers his hand over a cluster of photographs. A red thread connects the likes of several familiar faces to the board's centre. Connects them all to Nicky. Bombings, assassinations, coups. Joe stares up at the board, takes it in and recalls several photographs from memory. Then it hits him, how he, Andy and Booker _had_ been chasing after him all this time. Picking up the pieces of tragedies he had left in his wake. How Nicky truly was a ghost to him in all this. Except it wasn’t Nicky, Joe reminds himself. _Isn’t_ Nicky, just a shell of him, but not one that couldn’t be saved.

“It took years and an innumerable amount of trials, but...yes. Merrick used him to take out his competitors. Governments, politicians, terrorist cells. They all relented,” Copley continues. “Merrick had all of them in his pockets. Used them to fund what we now know as Merrick Pharmaceuticals. It's his grandson Steven Merrick you're after. And he’s been after all of you for years. Once Nicky dreamt of your new friend here,” Copley gestures towards Nile, “Merrick sent him out on a mission to extract her.”

“And where would he be?” Andy demands. “This Merrick?”

“In one of the most heavily fortified buildings in the country,” Copley says. “Their bio-weaponry’s division. That’s where they’ve been keeping Nicky. Every night, mission or not, they wipe him.”

"You knew about this," says Nile, suddenly and venomously. “Knew Merrick had him all this time. Knew they were torturing him.”

Copley hangs his head and doesn't answer immediately. "My wife," he says after a moment. "She...she couldn't talk at the end. Couldn’t breathe. Merrick had me convinced. Said that seventy eight years of study only meant that Nicky wasn’t viable, but perhaps others like him could be. It was supposed to be our gift to the world.”

Nile lowers her gun, disgust evident on her face. “It wasn't your gift to give." 

Copley nods to that in acknowledgement. “He’s going to find you. Whatever it takes.”

“Then you’ll help us,” Andy declares. “You lead us to Merrick. To Nicky. Slip us into the building so we can get him back.”

Joe moves then, three slow strides until he is in Copley’s face. “She’s not asking.”

.

“Yusuf…Joe,” Copley corrects himself later on, when Joe is outside of their safe house in Surrey and Copley arrives for recon. “If i may have a word?”

"I have nothing else to say to you," Joe says with terrifying composure. He’s alone, hands in his pockets as he stares out at the sunset. “Except, perhaps, that the only reason your head is still attached to your neck is because are necessary in our rescue of Nicky."

"Then allow me to express my gratitude," Copley curtly responds. He's holding onto a folder, one that appears to be a little too thin for the amount of papers he's managed to fit into it. "By giving you a succinct warning."

Joe's eyebrows furrow. "You do not need to be warning me of anything." 

Copley takes a minute before continuing. "This man, your Nicolo...it's like chasing a shadow. At the CIA, we called him a ghost. Merrick calls him the asset." 

"He is neither," Joe strongly affirms as he stands taller than Copley. "He is Nicolo di Genova. And we will bring him home."

"Maybe so," Copley considers. "But it's still well within my reason to caution you."

Suddenly he is pressing the folder into Joe's hands. 

"What is this?" Joe demands.

"Copies of Doppler's original studies as well as Merrick's. All three generations of them. Call it...proof."

At that, Joe sneers, "of what?"

Copley's eyes go dark and his voice drops dangerously low: "That he's not the kind of man you save. He's the kind you stop." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> T'entends-tu parler: Do you hear yourself speak?  
> Pourquoi: Why?  
> lo sapevi: you knew  
> credemi: believe me


	5. inviolable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team prepare to get Nicky back; Joe discovers what happened in those seventy eight years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to extend a thanks to all of you - including the people who have never seen TWS and still decided to give this story a chance! As much as I loved TWS I've tried very hard to make sure this fic can survive as a standalone, so your feedback has been amazing.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include violence, talk of torture and conditioning. Like previous chapters the violence is not too graphic, only mentioned.

"Joe! _Yusuf_!"

Joe groans at that, audibly. 

"I heard that," comes Nicky's voice from downstairs.

_You were meant to,_ Joe thinks. _Nobody is perfect, and Nicky being a morning person is proof of that,_ is his second assertion that morning.

They are in Malta, in a small abandoned stone cottage by the sea they are happy to call their own. It must be late morning, judging by the oppressive heat that led to him and Nicky sleeping in practically nothing the night before. Joe counts down the days before they are bound for Zurich, where Andy and Booker are probably settled in by now waiting for them. They'd afforded an extra week in Malta, one Joe was perfectly content to spend sleeping in, but Nicky had other ideas. 

Joe is finished pulling his shirt on over his head by the time he reaches their tiny kitchen, where Nicky is tinkering with their radio. It's a big ugly thing that only works half the time, but it does gets the job done, and sometimes it's nice to have Ella Fitzgerald keep him company when he sketches. 

Nicky is fiddling with the switch, muttering his frustrations in Italian as he gets only static in response. Suddenly the first two notes of Frank Sinatra's _I'll Never Smile Again_ fill the room. "Yes!" Nicky exclaims, doing little to hide his excitement. 

Joe shoots him a playful eye roll as he settles into the single table in the middle of the room. "This is all they play." 

"Must be a good song then," Nicky suggests, and suddenly, he's dancing. _Badly_. 

" _Oh mio dio_ ," Joe says, leaning back from where he's sitting, stretching his arms behind his head in amusement. 

"What?" Nicky says, shuffling to where Joe is, pushing one of his hands away from his curls to pull him to stand. 

Joe shoots Nicky an exasperated smile, mutters under his breath that it is too early for this, but obliges. Considers teasing him about his two left feet before reminding himself he'll have plenty of other opportunities to do so. 

For now he sways in their kitchen, in their little stone cottage by the sea, Nicky's forehead on his shoulder, their hands clasped to the side, Joe's other hand wrapped firmly around his waist. Tighter than usual, as if Nicky has anywhere else to be. 

They stay that way awhile, then Nicky lifts his face from where it's buried in Joe's shoulder and presses their lips together with no warning. Joe tastes tea that has gone cold by now because he woke up too late, and the familiar sea salt of Malta. He thinks to himself, _why is Nico's tongue so cold in this unforgiving Mediterranean heat?_

Nicky breaks away suddenly and stills. His green eyes are big, his pupils blown. Then he averts his gaze as he asks, quietly, "Why did you let go?"

"What?" Joe questions through a smile, tries to go back in but Nicky turns his face to the side so that Joe's lips only brush his cheek.

"Why did you let go?" he asks again. 

Joe's heart suddenly stops. Doesn't breathe for a second. Doesn't know how to justify the question with any kind of response. He just stares back at Nicky in horror and watches his beloved's face fall at the realization that he doesn't have answer. It's the worst thing he's ever seen.

It's quiet all of a sudden, almost as if the waves outside have stopped crashing, but Frank Sinatra's voice in the background is unmistakably loud. The song should be over by now. Why does it never end? Is something wrong with the radio? 

More thoughts flood Joe's head before he can stop them. Something about a military base in Chicago, about Andy yelling his name as she pulls him off Booker - why is he attacking Booker - a woman with wide and imploring eyes saying to him, _tell me about Nicky._

The Nicky in front of him finally turns back to look into his eyes and Joe regrettably thinks, _this is not a memory._

Joe falls to his knees. His hands are suddenly in a deadlock around Nicky's waist, his face leveled with Nicky's lower abdomen. " _Perdonami_ ," he says, and he tastes his tears on the front of Nicky's button down. " _Perdonami per favore, Nicolo. Perdonami._ " He thinks he hears an onslaught of excuses. Things about I _tried, you were right there, I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't strong enough_ and _we should have scoped the train-_

Nicky responds by kissing the top of Joe's curls. His lips are ice cold. "I'm not talking about the train, hayaat qalbee."

  
.

  
When Joe wakes up, it's to the unsurprising feeling of tears running down the sides of his face. It's the first time in years that he doesn't instinctively reach over to his side, only to be disappointed to grasp at cold, empty sheets. No, he knows he is alone.

He cranes his neck to see Andy still dozing, and Booker, also asleep, across the room with his gun lying limply in his hand. Given the circumstances, they had all agreed to share a room that night. Booker had silently made his way to a spot closest to the door in case anything were to happen. Joe didn't stop him. 

It takes Joe a moment to notice Nile is nowhere to be seen, and panic seizes him as he hurriedly shuffles to the window. Lets out a loud exhale to find her outside, just within his line of vision, staring out at the sunrise with her arms crossed. 

Joe pulls on his boots and follows her outside. "Bad dreams?" he asks as he settles next to her.

Nile turns to face him, nods her head softly. "Always."

Joe doesn't push for more, because if Nile had seen anything new regarding Nicky she would have the good graces to tell them. No, Nicky was still in pain, still in limbo. Still waiting for them. Waiting for Joe.

Joe suddenly looks up at Nile, really looks at her, almost like it's their first time meeting. "Nile, I..." he begins slowly. Struggles to find his words, but must have let out a sob, because Nile is quick to unfold her arms, to squeeze his shoulder and say, "hey. It's OK."

Joe recomposes himself. "I know this can't be easy for you. That none of this was supposed to happen. We asked so much of you and you still gave more. But this...Nicky...this was never supposed to be part of the deal." 

Nile offers him a quick smile. "You have nothing to be sorry for." She gives him a sad shrug. "It was either this or Merrick."

He clutches at her hand. Smiles back at her through the lack of sleep, through the migraine pulsing in his forehead, through the tears he has yet to spill. 

"What did Copley give you yesterday?" she asks after a while. 

He wonders for a minute how to go about answering that question and realizes he can't bullshit his way out of it, because it wasn't as if he hadn't spent all of yesterday holed up in his room reading through the files and then reading through them again with his phone's flashlight after the rest of them had gone to sleep. 

"Documents," he settles on. "Collected over the past seventy-eight years."

A beat.

"He killed twenty-nine doctors and guards," Joe then says, and he feels a glimmer of pride. "In a little under two weeks." 

Nile raises an eyebrow in approval. 

(He doesn't talk about the night before and now he had almost condemned himself to nightmares. Copley's file was thick for a reason. It hadn't missed a beat, hadn't foregone any cut, scrape, bruise, death Nicky had endured in captivity. Joe had forced himself to read through everything. All the trials, the tests, the surgeries, the beatings. The murders Nicky committed that he wouldn't remember but it didn't matter, he still wouldn't forgive himself. He had to know how to go about life with Nicky after they get him back. _They will get him back._ ) 

He finds his voice. "Doppler knew there were four of us from the beginning, and that's just about all he was ever able to get out of Nicky. But after a while, Nicky...he was in so much pain, and the drug trials didn't help. He began crying out despite himself. In his sleep. Under the knife. They were able to get a name...my name. _Yusuf_."

Nile's face falls at that, and she lowers her head in sadness. 

"Once Merrick got a hold of Doppler's research, he struck while the iron was hot. Said it, over and over again, after a beating, before a trial. As they pumped him full of drugs." He forces himself to stop for his own sake. Remembers Nile is in the army and most likely knows what conditioning and behavioral modification is.

"Joe..." Nile starts.

"He might not know who any of us are," Joe continues, "but surely he must have had an idea of who I am. It's little, but it's something that he could have clung to. And they took it away from him...took it away from me. From us. All things inviolable. All things sacred." 

Nile looks on at him helplessly before saying, "You have to know that none of this was your fault, Joe. Not the train, or Doppler, or Merrick, or _any_ of it. You didn't let him go." 

Joe nods but can't bring himself to believe it. Not even when he knows Nicolo would not hesitate to tell him the same thing. 

After a while, he lets out an inaudible sniff. "Getting him back will only be half the journey. He needs to be able to remember us. It will be long and it will be dangerous. For me, I have no doubt that I would spend the rest of my life making sure of it. But I cannot find it in myself to ask the same of you, Nile." 

"Then don't," Nile says simply. "Because I'm helping you, wether you like it or not. It's the right thing to do. And besides," she adds ruefully, "he'll probably have questions about the newbie he's been dreaming about for two weeks."

Joe smiles. For the first time in a while, he feels it reach his eyes.

As if on cue, Andy emerges from the house, looking just about ready to raid a maximum security lab, take a coffee break, and then do it again. "Copley'll be here in the next hour. Booker's making breakfast...if either of you can even stomach it right now."

Joe and Nile shoot each other one last look, before Nile takes the first step towards the house. Joe follows, stopping in place when Andy's hand find's its way around his upper arm.

"Joe," she says lowly. "I need you to be okay. Can you do that for me?" 

Joe nods once. He thinks he sees fire in Andy's eyes, or maybe they're in his, just reflected. "Always, boss."

  
.

  
The drive to the lab does not take long. Joe feels like he holds his breath the entire time, feels the pounding of heart against the rifle he holds to his chest. His scimitar feels unusually heavy were it lies strapped across his back. Joe can't wait to use it. In his nine hundred-or-so years, he always tried not to revel in the pain of others. To not let hatred consume him. But in this there could be no peace, no resolution, only a need to punish everybody who would condemn an innocent man to a lifetime of torture, to use his pain to hurt others. To hurt his own family. To hurt Joe. 

Joe would kill them all and feel nothing because he knew they all deserved worse.

Copley drives them in a large black van with Andy in the front seat, the two of them going over the basic anatomy of the building one more time. Nile sits beside him and across from Booker, who still acts as if he has taken a vow of silence. Joe regards him for a moment and the way there is no color to his face. It's unlike him, moreso because he's never known Booker to be nervous before missions and less because he had sold all of them out a little over forty eight hours ago. _No, Joe isn't over it quite yet._

Copley pulls up just out of view of the lab, and Joe, Booker and Nile each hop out the back one by one. Andy makes her way out from the front and closes the door behind her before leaning in to give Copley final instructions.

"Joe," Booker says suddenly. He walks slowly but surely to where Joe stands by Nile, ignores Joe's tensing, ignores the way Nile worriedly stares between the two of them. "You never have to forgive me and I will never ask that you do. But you should know. You _must_ know, Yusuf, that I had no idea." 

Joe looks at Booker. _Really_ looks at him after days of only offering up silent glares, and then he gives him a fast, curt nod because he's right; Joe doesn't feel the need to forgive him. But he knows Booker loved Nicky like a brother, knows he hasn't been the same person either since Nicky fell off that train seventy eight years ago. And for the first time in days, Joe believes him. 

Andy strides towards them as Copley pulls away, drives up to what looks to be the lab's first checkpoint, where two armed guards approach the van. 

"Ready?" Andy asks.

Joe and Nile nod in her direction. Booker cocks his gun loudly. 

Andy meets all of their eyes, one by one. Then she smirks for the first time in days. "Let's get our Nicky back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations: 
> 
> Oh mio dio: oh my god  
> Perdonami per favore: please forgive me  
> hayaat qalbee: life of my heart
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I wanted to slow things down again, hence the dream sequence with Nicky. And a hint: the song in said dream sequence will appear in later chapters. So [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xVH7i-QmoHU) is the link if you wanna prep yourselves for that!
> 
> Next chapter is going to be chock full of action so it might take me a little longer to get a chapter out because it's a little out of my element. Regardless I'm really excited for you guys to read what happens next!


	6. destati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finally embark on their rescue efforts, and Joe finally comes face to face with Nicky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not easy to write because action isn't my wheelhouse and we'll get back to dialogue-heavy angst in the next few chapters, but ALSO: writing joe and nicky fighting is unspeakably difficult because of how unbelievably in LOVE they are. Kind of like when you're watching the film and they talk about how they killed each other during the crusades and you're like REALLY? THOSE two? Exact same energy here.
> 
> That being said I hope you enjoy this and thank you again for reading.
> 
> My only warnings for this chapter would be violence (moreso than previous chapters), and brief talk of torture at the beginning.

As far as bad days, Merrick had considered this anything but, in spite of the failure of last week's extraction still looming. _(That had been taken care of. Missteps were not to be tolerated, and the asset was not exempt. Punishment was never quick nor swift; it had to be effective enough to survive as muscle memory where the mind would fail, to reiterate to the asset that failure was_ _absolutely_ not _an option_.)

On top of Copley's successful negotiations, Kozac's reports had been promising that morning. Perhaps the death cure wasn't decades away; perhaps he would live to see it, to _use_ it. His grandfather's dream wouldn't be a dream after all, and his legacy would survive in Merrick's greatest achievement. 

_Five_ assets. 

He would bring the world to its knees.

Suddenly, Keane bursts through the doors, gun drawn, eyes frantic. He lets out a pant of relief to find Merrick alone.

"What is it?" Merrick demands.

"They've come," Keane says. "They've come for _him_."

Merrick blanches, and his eyes go impossibly wide; from fear, from panic, from excitement, he does not know.

"Get the asset." 

.

By the time they're midway through their rescue effort, Joe has used his sword on dozens of the unfortunate backup Merrick has sent their way, maybe used their own weapons against half of them. The bodies pile endlessly and Joe thinks to himself, _really? This is the hill you want to die on?_ when he drives his sword through the skull of a guard who refuses to offer up any information to them.

He still thinks he's holding back, and has a feeling Andy would agree with him.

The two of them had been separated from Nile and Booker when a smoke grenade had been thrown their way, but judging by the screams and the accompanying sounds of gunfire coming from above them, they seemed to have things under control. 

Joe's sword had been lost in the chaos, and he was now clinging to a pistol he had wrestled out of the hands of one of Merrick's guards. " _Nicolo_?" Joe cries as they wade their way through smoke and security alarms. "Nicky! Nico-"

"Joe," that's Andy behind him, "Booker and Nile - we've gotta get back to them-"

They turn a corner to find a what looks like the entrance of a massive lab, its big steel doors hanging ajar ominously. They rush in, and Joe immediately fumes at the sight of a blonde woman in a prim and proper lab coat. She's handling what looks like tissue samples in a way where Joe is positive she is transferring them, no doubt for safekeeping.

"You're here for him," she deduces quickly, failing to hide her panic. "You're here for the asset." 

" _Nicky_ ," he says. A correction. He cocks his gun and watches her flinch. "Where is he?" 

"Please," the woman breathes out. 

"It has been seventy eight years. And I am _tired_ ," Joe says as he inches closer to her, "of asking questions." 

"I suggest you tell us," Andy provides. 

She doesn't answer the question immediately. Takes a breath and looks Joe up and down, understands in the moment, perhaps from her own research, who he could be. "You may believe my actions to be immoral, but I believe they can change the world. He has done so much for humanity. And he can do much more," she ends up saying.

Suddenly the unmistakable sound of bullet hitting flesh resounds around the room, and the woman is on the floor now, surrounded by the destroyed samples, screaming as blood gushes from her knee. Joe thinks about how many times Nicky would have heard this speech or any variation of it. How many times he would have had to tell these monsters that it was a _fine_ justification; just one he's heard so many times before. 

"I'll ask you one more time," Joe warns.

She relents, lifting her hands up in appeasement. "U-u-upstairs. T-top floor. That's where Merrick is keeping him. P-p-please..."

Joe considers her one more moment but doesn't lower his gun.

"Please - !" she is able to get out before she is dead on the ground, blood pooling around her head.

Andy says nothing to that. Only shoots Joe a look he has trouble deciphering because he has never seen her make it, and the two of them break into a run towards the stairs. 

"Booker," she regards not a moment later, when he and Nile emerge from the upper floor's rubble. 

"Merrick's holed up upstairs. It's on the last floor before you hit the roof. He's got a dozen men up there with him, give or take, armed to the teeth," Booker reports before pausing to grab at his side, hissing as a bullet pushes itself out. "He's got Nicky up there with him."

Joe pauses to fume and silently reaffirm his intentions to draw Merrick's death out as slowly as possible. He has some _goddamn_ nerve to send men - evil men willing to lay down their lives for the pain and suffering of another, but men all the same - to their deaths while he is content to hide out, clinging to his life's greatest achievement. Like Nicky is his own personal guard dog. 

Joe crouches to snatch a rifle from the hands of one of Merrick's dead cronies. "Not for long."

"What are we thinking?" Bookers rasps out. "Sao Paulo, '84?" 

"Too risky," Andy assesses, and Joe agrees. Nicky isn't with them - not yet - and Nile is still learning. 

"I'm going upstairs," Joe announces. "Merrick has most likely sent for more backup. You cover me down here."

Andy shoots him an incredulous look. "Joe _, no._ Immortal or not, you won't make it all the way up there alone."

"I'll go with you," Booker offers, ignoring the surprised glances they shoot him. "If you two can be good down here," he adds quickly when Andy stares at him indignantly, but she and Nile nod in his direction.

Of course Joe would have it any other way, but he doesn't have time to disagree. Just says to Booker, "follow my lead."

The two of them make a beeline for a nearby set of steps. It only takes four flights before they arrive at the floor Booker had described, which seems to be just one long, big hallway with a door at the end of it.

A man turns the corner and mutters obscenities when he spots Joe and Booker. Merrick's second, Keane, if Joe is not mistaken from Copley's files. In his rage, Joe recalls reports upon reports of the consequences of any of Nicky’s failures. Of what Keane termed “enhanced discipline”. 

Keane quickly barks orders into his shoulder before he dodges Joe's first shot; he gets close enough to throw a punch at him that doesn't land. Joe grabs the man's front and says to him, voice dangerously low, "You hurt Nicky." The man only stares back at him, dazed. " _You shouldn't have done that."_

It's his sloppiest kill of the day, but Joe doesn't care. For what its worth he hopes the last second of Keane's life is spent _seriously_ regretting his choices, because if they had more time between them, Joe would have done a _lot_ more than just snap his neck.

" _Hey!_ " comes a voice from behind him, followed by the ring of several shots. The man is on the ground in seconds. " _Fuck_ ," Booker exclaims when he realizes he's out of bullets. In two strides, he snatches up the man's gun, reloading it as the sound of ascending footsteps fills the hall.

He doesn't have to say it, but with two hundred-and-so years between them, he doesn't have to. _Go,_ Joe hears. 

Joe nods, shoots down the knob locking the door and spills into the room. He doesn't immediately know what to expect, but certainly this isn't it: it's pristine and tidy, surrounded by glass walls, almost like an unoccupied office space, and everything from his gunshots to his footsteps echo. 

Merrick is on the other end, right behind -

_Nicolo._

Joe cares very little of the circumstances that have led them here. Cares very little that the Nicky in front of him meets his gaze with only hatred and fear, that his hair is long and unkempt and that he bears a little too much stubble than Nicky normally prefers. It's Nicky, _his_ Nicky, and he's here to take him home.

"I'm not going to fight you, Nicolo," Joe says, and tosses his gun to the side. 

Nicky doesn't respond; only stands there, eyes vacant, glaring towards Joe with no semblance of recognition. It hits Joe then that this is his first time staring at Nicky, _truly_ taking him in since the train. He only had a fraction of a second at the base, and even then, Nicky was masked, his beautiful green eyes caked in horrible ash. It takes him back in the worst way, to nine hundred years ago under the unforgiving Jerusalem sun. To the first time he plunged his blade into Nicky's chest. How he desperately, _desperately_ doesn't want to do it again.

"I'd stop now if I were you," Merrick says in a pathetic attempt to sound in control of the situation, like an unbothered villain in a shitty movie. "His skills are unmatched. He'll kill you at my command. And if you come back, he'll do it again. Over and over until you decide to stay down." 

Joe pointedly ignores Merrick. Just stares ahead at Nicky and says, "Nicolo, please. Do not do this."

"He doesn't know who any of you are," Merrick continues. "Well, not those friends of yours. _You?_ That is an entirely different story." 

Before Joe can say anything else, Nicky pulls out his gun lightning quick and shoots Joe in his left thigh. Joe lets out a broken scream and falls to one knee. Nicky circles around him to push him down, so that he is now kneeling on Joe's chest.

"You don't understand what you could do for the world, but in time will come to realize that you are _priceless_ ," Merrick says. "Stop being selfish. Start thinking of the future. Start thinking of him. _How you would be together again_." 

Joe would laugh if it wasn't for the knee digging into him. "K-k-eep telling y-yourself that," he chokes out. 

The cold end of Nicky's gun is suddenly digging into his forehead, and Joe distantly thinks of a speeding train in the Alps.

"Kill him," Merrick says, as if on cue. 

Joe feels sudden, jolting, familiar pain, and then darkness.

Seconds later he comes to, horrified gasps filling his lungs as a bullet pushes its way out of the back of his head. He doesn't hesitate, just breathes out, " _Nico."_

Nicky is on his feet now, staring down at him, awaiting further instruction. 

"Stay down. I will not tell him to stop," Merrick reiterates. Then he commands of Nicky, "Slower this time. _Make him feel it_." 

Joe hisses as the other bullet makes its way out of his thigh, and he lifts himself back to his feet. "Nicolo, per _favore."_

Nicky says nothing, just lunges forward. This time Joe deflects the hit and disarms him, takes a few punches before he is able to get Nicky into a chokehold. "Nicolo, _stop." I never forgave myself for seventy-eight years_ , he doesn't say. _I will never forgive myself for this, either._

Nicky only grunts in fury as he attempts to wriggle out of Joe's hold. When he manages, he comes around Joe to bodyslam him into the marble floor beneath them, his hand curled tightly around Joe's throat. Joe is under Nicky now, pinned, and Nicky lands punches across his face in quick succession. He screams, deep and wounded, but Joe doesn't stop.

"You are my moon when I am lost in darkness," he implores, and it feels like a betrayal to say the words with so much pain laced in his voice, but he manages, "my warmth when I shiver in cold." 

Nicky pulls back to stare down at Joe for only a moment, but its enough to send shockwaves of hope through Joe's broken body. Then he brings his fist back across Joe's face. 

"You're my _mission_ ," Nicky says to Joe, the first thing he has said to him since the base, and his voice betrays him. It sounds pained, tainted with fear and rage, like Joe is right, like he is going to be _punished_ because Joe is right. 

Joe does not break eye contact. "Then finish it." Before he can stop himself, the words spill out. " _Hayaat qalbee."_

Nicky looks down at him, pays no attention to Merrick's screams or to the fact that he has unclenched his fist.

An overwhelmingly loud shot rings throughout the room, and suddenly Nicky's lifeless body is crushing Joe, his blood flooding Joe's eyes - Joe keens in absolute shock, unable to move for what feels like an eternity. Then he brings himself to sit up, to look ahead at Nile, who is holding a gun in shaking hands.

Nile redirects her aim towards Merrick now, cursing out loud when she realizes she's out of cartridges. Merrick grabs Nicky's gun and shoots at her, but it does nothing; she gracelessly launches herself at him, taking a few bullets to the chest in the process. Joe is barely able to register before he hears glass shattering and Nile's distant voice yelling "Shit!", then suddenly a loud crash, and then the sound of a million car alarms.

Joe sits up fully, and crawls to where Nicky lies in a pool of his own blood.

Andy and Booker follow shortly behind, entering the room and covered in blood that is not theirs. Andy's eyes shift from Nicky's body to Joe to the shattered remains of where Nile had attacked Merrick. Nicky suddenly gasps, his body wracking with deep, guttural breaths as he comes alive. Joe is able to breathe a sigh of relief before Andy sweeps across the room, her labrys in tow - Joe screams " _No_ _!"_ completely on instinct as she twirls it in her hand and uses its butt to slam it against the side of Nicky's head. He hits the ground again, unconscious.

"Get Nile," she orders Booker. 

Booker shoots her a quick glance and then nods, keeps his eyes trained on Nicky as he backpedals through the door and eventually out of sight.

"Joe," Andy says, kneeling so she is at level with him. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and presses their foreheads together, briefly. 

"Nicolo..." Joe is muttering, dazed. "Nicolo... _destati..."_

"Joe, look at me. We have to get out of here. We have to leave with Nicky and we have to leave _now._ Joe," she says one more time firmly, and he finally looks at her. Blinks through Nicky's blood in his eyes. "Can you do that for me?"

He nods quietly once, stands with Andy as she lifts Nicky's limp body into a fireman's carry. "Good," she says. "Let's get out of here." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations:  
> per favore: please  
> hayat qalbee: life of my heart  
> destati: awaken 
> 
> Also, I've decided to extend this fic by a chapter to round it out to 8. Writing Nicky's rehabilitation and the recovery of his memories - especially now that he doesn't just not remember Joe but outwardly detests and fears him (sorry again for that!) - can't be resolved in a single chapter.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Your comments mean the world.


	7. crow’s feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team attempt to recover Nicky's memories with varying results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW ok I did NOT mean for this chapter to be as long as it did, but just like I warned, the team + Nicky are really in for it, and that's mostly what this chapter deals with.
> 
> SOME WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Nicky undergoes something that is LIKENED to drug withdrawal. For that reason, symptoms related to withdrawal are briefly touched upon and mentioned. The drug mentioned in this fic is PURELY fictional and not recreational in any way. It was administered to him under captivity as a way of inducing memory loss. As mentioned in previous chapters, this was done over the course of 70+ years, so his body built up a tolerance because of forced dependency. In this chapter the team attempt to ween him off of it (though he is in NO way addicted to it), but if this is the kind of thing that you find triggering then PLEASE proceed with caution!
> 
> Aside from that, again, there is talk of torture, violence and conditioning.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Hope you enjoy.

It is dusk when they reach the safe house, Booker pulling up sloppily next to the garage before Joe and Andy work to get Nicky inside. They had wasted no time in disarming him, stripping him of his tactical gear and leaving him in a dark grey undershirt, trousers and his combat boots. Nile and Booker stay by his side as Andy and Joe wait outside for Copley, who had sped away as soon as had been able to get them into the lab hours ago. 

Copley's unassuming car pulls up not a moment later. He gently approaches, sporting a slight head wound and nothing else. He digs his hands into his pockets as he says, "Apart from half the city being shut down, everything else seems to be in order. Merrick had enough competitors and human rights violations piled up against him to launch an international investigation, so. Plenty of places to start. The media's gone ballistic. So, pluses and minuses." 

Joe says nothing. In his place, Andy curtly says, "Thank you." 

Copley nods in acknowledgement. There is an uncomfortable pause before he asks, "Where is he?"

Andy takes in a deep breath. "Sleeping."

"You'd be wise to keep him that way," Copley advises. "These next few days won't be easy."

"What, undoing a lifetime of torture and brainwashing?" Andy asks sarcastically. 

"He's remembering," Joe cuts in. "Back at the lab...I saw it in his eyes. Even if he didn't know us, he remembered."

"He will," Copley is quick to reassure. "Just not as quick as you would like. The drug Merrick had been administering...there's no name for it. No cure. No way to counteract it, at least in any way that would speed the process. Merrick, and even Doppler before him, didn't waste a single night making sure it had made it into his system for seventy eight years."

"What are you saying?" Andy demands. "That he...needs it?"

"Not necessarily, no," Copley continues, "just as his body built up a tolerance, he will have to learn to live without it's influence."

Andy gives a small, humorless laugh and looks up to the sky. "Cold turkey."

"In layman's terms, yes." 

"But he remembered me," Joe softly says to no one in particular.

"He remembers fragments of you," Copley counters. "And soon enough he'll be able to make new memories, ones that will override the bad ones."

 _Override the need to kill me_ , Joe bitterly thinks. 

"How long will it take?" Andy asks.

Copley hesitates. "Its effects were refined to last thirty-six hours at the most, but it was always administered within a twenty-four hour window. So anywhere within that time frame would be your best bet."

Joe struggles to find his voice. The pounding of his heart is too distracting. He had combed through Doppler and Merrick's notes twice over, and perhaps he failed to grasp all of the terminology, but he hadn't made a connection to what Copley was describing. No, these assholes were too busy manufacturing a drug dependency in Nicky, and then bullshitting around actually admitting that that's exactly what they had done. All in the name of science.

"You can go now," Joe says coldly, a threat if anything else.

Copley opens and shuts his mouth quickly, deciding in half a second that arguing with immortals he had tried to auction off to Merrick's own personal science fair mere days ago was just simply not worth the effort. "Of course. Andy, you have my contact."

Andy only nods, and she and Joe stand in silence and watch as Copley gets back into his car to drive away.

Joe takes the opportunity to bury his face in his hands. _"Fuck."_

He feels Andy's hand around his upper arm and silently thanks her. He's exhausted in more ways than he can describe; he is surprised that he can still stand.

" _Boss!"_

That's Booker from the garage, and they exchange a worried look at the panic laced in his voice. 

Joe turns on his heel and rushes in, Andy on his tail, where Booker is wearily standing about six feet away from Nicky, who they had unceremoniously chained by one wrist to an exposed steel pipe. It was obviously for safety measures; Nicky had killed three of them last week, Joe _multiple_ times. Still (and entirely on instinct), Joe had balked at the idea, but that hadn't stopped Andy from carrying out the deed with Nile's help as Joe forcibly sulked in the corner. 

Nile reappears from the side, a glass of water in hand that she cautiously places within Nicky's reach.

"Dove sono," Nicky breathes out. " _Dove...?_ " He forces himself to pull his head up, narrowing his eyes in pain when they adjust to the garage's fluorescent lights. When Andy comes into his line of vision, Nicky stifles a gasp; in his panic, he looks to Booker, to Nile, and when his eyes settle on Joe's, he seizes despite his best efforts. Joe thinks he can hear his heart beat from across the room, feel the blood leave his face as he is forced to stare upon the face of a man he had been conditioned to hate for the seventy-eight years. 

Andy takes a step towards him but maintains her distance. " _Noi siamo la tua famiglia."_

Nicky only stares back at her, his jaw clenched, his expression vacant. 

"Can you tell us our names?" Andy prods.

Nothing.

Andy stifles a sigh. "Can you tell us who you are?" she asks next.

Again, radio silence. Joe suppresses the urge to swear, to express any kind of negative emotion that would only fulfill Nicky's skewed expectations. 

Then suddenly, quietly, Nicky says, "Nicolo." There is very little conviction in his voice, but it is still a start. Joe's heart skips a beat, and he shares a quick, hopeful glance with Andy before looking back to Nicky. This time, Nicky meets his gaze. He uses his head to gesture vaguely in Joe's direction. "He called me... _Nicolo_." He turns slightly to motion towards Nile. "You. _I dreamt of you._ " 

Nile simply stares ahead at him. "Yes," she says. "You did."

Joe now takes a step in Nicky's direction and then immediately regrets it when Nicky visibly recoils, backing into the wall as far as he is able.

Andy holds a hand out towards Joe, as if to stop him from moving any further. "We are not going to hurt you. Do you understand? Hey, _look at me._ "

Joe feels his heart beat through every nerve in his body. He tries to look at Nicky to ground himself. To remind him what he is here to do. But looking at Nicky only makes things worse; it only serves as a bitter reminder that he had enjoyed life for hundreds of years not even thinking of reaffirming Nicky that he would never hurt him again. It makes him wonder, ruefully if he'll spend the rest of his life doing just that. 

A bead of sweat slides down the side of Nicky's face as he obliges, looking up to meet Andy's eyes. There is no sense of understanding, no look of reassurance. No, he is simply obeying her. Simply terrified of consequences. 

Nile is standing by Andy, completely rigid, hand outstretched towards nothing in particular. Her eyes are wider than Joe has ever seen them. Booker is just out of his line of vision, furthest from Nicky, but even then Joe can tell that he is looking ahead in complete helplessness. 

Joe moves towards Nicky again despite himself. Thinks he hears himself whisper Nicky's name, because Nicky blinks up at him and exhales heavily through his nose, but it doesn't stop Joe from doing it again. "Nico-"

Suddenly, Nicky lunges at Joe and the pipe (that is nowhere near as sturdy as Booker had gathered) along with him.

Andy is first to move, lightning quick; she flings herself towards where Nicky has Joe on the ground, but he senses her presence before she is able to do any real damage, and in seconds Nicky has her on the ground too, across the garage, groaning and blinking blood out of her eyes - Booker is next to move, but Nicky deflects everything and anything he throws at him with ease, pushing him into Nile.

Nicky returns to where Joe is on the ground, groaning through a head wound that is taking _way_ too long to heal. He closes his fingers tight around Joe's throat, his eyes vacant as he squeezes the life out of Joe, as Joe pleads with him with desperate gasps, as Joe's hands on Nicky's front go limp-

Suddenly, in a repeat of the last twenty four hours, Nicky is once again unconscious on top of Joe, Andy looming over the two of them, this time with a gun in hand, her hand still white hot against its grip, which Joe quickly understands she had used to knock out Nicky. 

Nile rushes towards Joe from where Nicky had attacked her and Booker, crouching next to him as he takes several rasped, halting breaths.

 _"_ That is the _last_ time any of you ever get me to do that again," Andy promises as she sets Nicky down for the second time that day, dozenth time in two days. Then she takes his wrist in her hand and frustratingly scans the room before making her way towards the radiator, Nicky in tow, and snaps the other end of the handcuff onto a large and exposed piece of metal on the wall.

He gasps, and brings a shaking hand to circle around where Nicky's fingers had just been in; feels the roughness of the skin there before it is sure to start healing. Nile keeps her hand steady at his shoulder blade, squeezing it lightly in comfort. 

Andy throws the gun to the side, slamming her body against the wall opposite Nicky in complete and utter exhaustion. She slides down, her fingers running through her short hair. "I don't understand any of this." 

"We're not supposed to," says Booker. 

"We cannot just leave him here," Joe hears himself say, and he does not recognize his own voice.

"What else can we do?" Andy demands sadly. She takes a beat. "Copley was right. We gotta give it time. Give _him_ time. He's not going to remember the last nine hundred years off the bat, and we're going to help him, but there's not much we can do until the drug's out of his system."

"We can't _leave_ him here," Joe reiterates, firmly this time.

Andy glares up at him. "Joe-"

"It's exactly what they did, lock him up with only himself and his fear, his torment - it is _punishment_ , and we cannot punish him in the same way."

"We have no other choice. He wants to _kill_ you," Andy says in frustration. "And for whatever reason, it seems to only _be_ you." 

"It's how they conditioned him," Joe cannot stop the words from spilling. "It's how they were able to turn him against me the way they did."

"What are you talking about?" Andy pushes. "They...punished him? What, _because of you?_ "

 _Yes_ , Joe distantly thinks. _No_ , he silently corrects himself. _Something like that, only worse_. 

His mind grievously flips through the pages of Merrick's research, of what Keane called _enhanced discipline_ , of them abandoning Nicky in a room for days with only the drug to keep him company, of shockings, of beatings, of something about being trapped in a box underwater before Joe had forced himself to stop reading-

" _Joe_." 

It's Andy's voice, but if anything grounds him in reality, it's Nile's firm grip on his shoulder. It's the way she looks at him, and silently agrees not to tell Andy that she had known all this time what Merrick was capable of, of the way he had honed in on Nicky's specific connection to Joe out of all of them.

"He wants to kill me," Joe quietly hears himself say. "He...fears me. He doesn't remember any of you, but what he remembers of me is only pain. Only suffering."

"What do you mean?" Andy whispers.

From the corner of his eye, Joe sees Booker move closer towards Andy.

"Merrick's....research," Joe explains. "The one Copley came by with the night before. They knew about Nicky and me, and when they found out, they punished him for it. Used my name again and again until he could only conflate it with his pain and his misery."

Booker curses under his breath and stares dejectedly at the grimy floor beneath them. Andy looks on sadly at him, and says with wet eyes, " _oh, Joe._ " They do not press him. They already knows what this means.

Joe forces himself to continue. Andy was right earlier. They were Nicky's family, and they were owed an explanation. "I didn't want you to think he was beyond help. Because if he cannot not love me, I can live with that." _I can't, but I will because I have no choice,_ he thinks. "But I fear you will not feel the same. I fear that if you believe he is beyond saving..." he allows himself to trail off and leave the thought unfinished. 

" _È questo quello che pensi di noi_?" Andy demands, but she is not angry.

Booker nods his head in agreement with Andy. "No man left behind."

Joe can't find himself to cruelly retort and call out Booker's own hypocrisy - at least not in the moment, because Booker offers up each word with so much anguish. He lost a brother. And right now with that same brother in front of him, he still remains lost.

Nicky is already coming to with a loud groan. " _Cazzo_ ," he slurs, using his free hand to rub at the back of his head, hissing as he does. All three of them are quick to stop their bickering, and Joe turns his body towards Nicky as if Nicky hadn't just tried to kill him for the umpteenth time. When Nicky eyes refocus on them, he lowers his eyes in what Joe is so sure to be shame.

"Stand down," Andy warns.

"Nicolo," that's Booker now. He brings himself to his feet, slowly, quietly, like Nicky is a stray cat he is trying desperately not to startle. " _Per favore."_

"Stop calling me that," Nicky hisses.

"We are calling you that," Joe hears Nile say, her hand still gripping his arm, "because that is your name."

"And despite what you might think," Andy adds, "we are not here to hurt you."

"If that is what you believe, then you are wrong," Nicky flatly says. It doesn't sound like Nicky, Joe observes. He is forming words, he is not some feral beast, but every breath he draws sounds like that of a wounded animal; of a terrified child trying to avoid a punishment. He pulls on the cuff next to him to test its strength, and grunts upon realizing he will not be so quick to escape this time. "They will hurt me for even speaking to you." 

"They will not," Joe says; a threat, a promise, he does not know. "Merrick is dead. I killed Keane. They will never come near you again."

Something dangerous flashes in Nicky's eyes. Joe wonders for a sick moment if it is anger. If he is angry that they they had rescued him from Merrick. If he doesn't even think they had rescued him but _stole_ him. Like he is nothing more than just Merrick's property. 

If this is truly Nicky they are talking to, or just a shell. 

Andy sighs. "Copley said this would happen. And you leave us no choice. All I can say is that we are doing this for you, _Nicolo_." 

Nicky winces at the word again. "You cannot save me."

"No. Only you can do that," Andy admits. "But we can help you to remember."

Joe picks himself up, brushes away Nile's concerns as her hand awkwardly follows his movements. He walks towards Nicky, slow and unthreatening. He lets out a breath, deep and ragged, and carefully reaches his hand into his back pocket (trying to ignore the way Nicky buries himself against the wall), and wastes no time fishing it out - the photograph.

Zurich. _December, 1942._

He places the tiny paper on the concrete floor and slides it in Nicky's direction, forces himself to watch Nicky eye the photograph cautiously. Then he reaches out, picks it up and stares down at it, and for a long moment his expression is unreadable. 

Then Nicky, after years of being a nameless shadow taught to never speak unless spoken to...his face falls despite himself. His pupils are blown. Perhaps it is a trick of the light, but Joe is so sure his eyes could be wet. His lips part, and he licks them quickly, almost as if to stop himself from speaking, from crying out, from saying the words Joe had been waiting to hear all this time, _I remember._

Joe is too weak to muster even a comforting smile. He is struggling to keep his expectations within reason; to remind himself that Nicky still has a long road ahead of him, that he is still chained in this garage and surrounded by a family he wants to kill.

He turns on his heel, slowly again so as not to alert Nicky (though little can at this point, as he is too enraptured by the photograph), and he is gone.

.

Copley was right. He continues to be a slimy, self-serving pile of shit who was far beyond redemption as far as Joe was concerned, but credit where it is due, and his assertion of Nicky had unfortunately been spot-on.

They had decided to watch Nicky in unofficial cycles of which Nile had been the first to volunteer, feebly suggesting that Nicky perhaps would have wanted to kill her the least, before Booker shot her down entirely and reminded all of them that Nicky had been _assigned_ to abduct her by Merrick.

So Booker goes first, and it's what Andy decides purposefully when Joe drifts off, finally allowing exhaustion to overtake him despite his best efforts. It is only when Andy has Nile sparring with her in the backyard of the safe house, showing her a "trick the history books won't teach you" that Joe storms out in his poorly disguised fury.

" _Andromache_."

"Joe-"

"No. I won't want him anywhere near Nicky."

"By all means, storm right in and drag him out if you have to. That won't scare Nicky at all."

Joe turns to face Andy. "You said we'd deal with this - with _him_ \- after. Well, Andy, and it makes me sad to say this, but it is _after_."

Andy looks down suddenly, as if to collect her thoughts. Then she says, in a way where she is already bracing for Joe's reaction, "I think we'd be wise to keep him around."

Joe barks out a laugh, a hysterical, unkind sound. "Do you hear yourself?"

"I do," Andy affirms. "And so does Nile. But if Nicky is going to remember who he is then he needs us around to help him. All of us."

"All of us," Joe mocks. "Then I suppose all of us are allowed to sell out each other with not a single repercussion. Because that's what families do, right?" 

"They were - _are_ friends," Andy implores. " _Brothers_. Even you can't deny it, Joe."

And that is just it; he can't. So he takes one good look at Andy, shifts his glance to Nile who is staring in the sort of _don't-loop-me-into-your-shit_ way she has grown accustomed to over the past couple of days, and he retreats back into the house. 

Inside, Booker sits from across Nicky, watching his head loll against his still-cuffed arm. It was Andy of all people who had offered to uncuff him; having Nicky restrained in any kind of way made all of them unspeakably uncomfortable, but Nicky had faintly suggested that it wouldn't be a good idea because as far as he still knew, he was still capable of harming any and all of them.

Which by all accounts meant progress. Nicky warning them must have meant he was beyond trying to kill them. _Right?_

Booker does not let the thought occupy him too much; he is too busy making sure Nicky doesn't suffocate on his own vomit. _Cold turkey_ was a throwaway term at best, Booker bitterly thinks. This is something else entirely. Nicky had not spent a single moment sitting still, and when he wasn't fidgeting he was constantly shaking, his face having gone paper white since gaining consciousness hours ago. Against his better judgement, Booker had crossed the room in panicked strides to offer what little comfort he could: a bucket to make sure Nicky wouldn't make a mess of himself, and a tentative hand on his sweat-slicked shoulder. 

"Zurich," Booker hears suddenly.

Booker pales and looks up. "W-what?"

"Zurich. It must have been before the war ended. Before..."

 _The train,_ they both do not say. 

Nicky is rubbing at his eyes with his free hand now, his fingers meeting to pinch the bridge of his nose. "The photograph."

Booker nods encouragingly, struggling to stifle the relieved sobs trapped in his throat.

Nicky continues, "You wanted to go down to Lindenhof. The cabin fever was bad." He pauses. Booker swears he sees a flicker of a smile before Nicky sadly says, "you didn't want to be alone."

Booker nods his head gently.

It was the anniversary of Jean-Pierre's death and Nicky had caught Booker pouring whiskey into his coffee like any other morning. Andy must have found company the night previous, and Joe must have been dying to sleep in, so Booker didn't fault them for the lapse in memory (not that he wanted to reminded). But Nicky...he never forgot. Pulled up a chair across from Booker and said something about a street fair that day, his eyes widening when Booker hadn't immediately shot him down. Nicky had scrawled a quick note for Joe, and then they were off.

Booker had little to no interest whatsoever in many of the tiny shops Nicky had suggested they peer into but had suddenly found himself taken by a little photographer's studio. It was lined with anxious-looking, rowdy young men who can't have been older that Nicky ( _well, in the face)_ , eager to have their pictures taken. Booker had reminded Nicky that come tomorrow he would be separated from Joe for up to two weeks. Nicky had told him to sober up.

("Nicolas, _mio fratello_ , I understand that Joe is an artist and you are his muse but you'll certainly numb his hands at this rate."

Nicky had rolled his eyes. "That's really none of your business."

"And yet it is. My brother is shipping out tomorrow," he had then said in _very_ stilted German to the photographer on duty, "and his sweetheart will miss him terribly."

"He is being dramatic," Nicky had apologized.

Booker took him in, observed the way his cheeks would still redden even after centuries and said to the poor photographer, "I am _not_." )

It had been a good afternoon. His best in years. 

.

It was now going on thirty-four hours since Nicky had woken up. Joe bitterly thinks to himself how beautiful it would be for Nicky to be amassed with an onslaught of memories in two more hours but that is not how science - if this can even be called that - works. 

And so Joe was perfectly content to go back to sleep even though he was already well-rested, because being comatose was favorable in comparison to remembering the feeling of Nicky's hands around his throat.

It had only been when Andy barged into his room without knocking to rip the nest of blankets Joe had surrounded himself with, in a manner more furious that he has seen with their enemies, that Joe sits up groggily and mutters, "Andromache, _what-"_

"Get up," she says. "You can't keep avoiding him like the plague."

Joe sighs. "Andy-"

"Goddamn it, Joe, you were the one who was saying we'd never give up on him."

"I haven't," Joe angrily retorts. "I would never."

"Then what is this?" Andy demands.

Joe throws his hands up in frustration, and with them, any attempt at an explanation. How does he even begin to describe how he is feeling? That he is utterly terrified at the prospect of living out immortality in the presence of a man who could not remember loved him? And how does Andy even begin to offer comfort or counsel in this situation? _I know the love of your life wants to kill you through no fault of his own, but we will get through this_? 

"Nile and I were just with him," she says instead. "And he seems...stable. Not just like he is remembering, but he is _trying_ to."

"It will not take a single night to undo all of this," Joe dolefully says.

"I know," Andy offers. "But you have to start somewhere. The rest will follow."

Joe says nothing to that; his way of affirming that she is correct. Suddenly, she is across the room and then back next to him just as quickly, and she is gently pressing his own sketchbook to his chest. Joe lets out a deep sigh, and before he knows it, he is standing to pull his shirt over his head. He takes the book in hand, offers up a small smile to Andy, and then he is out the door of the bedroom.

The safe house is so old and rustic that there is no door to the garage, so when Joe quickly crosses the living room he is already able to make out Nicky. He is still pushed up against the wall; still chained by one hand to the exposed pipe, though Andy was just with him so it must be for good reason, Joe is quick to remind himself. 

His feet move before his mind tells him to because with Nicky, he does not think. He only acts.

It takes Joe less than a second to notice that Nicky is not sleeping. It takes him even less time to notice that he looks exponentially better. Color has returned to his face. He is no longer sweating. But his hair...it is still so long in a way that reminds Joe of a field somewhere in Jerusalem. He cannot wait to cut it. To have Nicky trust him enough to even let him near his hair...

"You came," Nicky says softly. There is no malice in his voice; no anger; perhaps a hint of fear, but still, Joe reminds himself, this is progress. "Nile and Andy said you would. Booker was sure of it." 

_Nile. Andy. Booker._ Joe has never been happier to hear their names. Andy was right. Nicky is remembering. 

"Is that what Booker said?" Joe quietly asks.

"Yes. Among other things. Like if you could have him banished for one hundred years, you would do it," Nicky says humorlessly. 

Joe lets out a scoff. "One hundred years is generous." Then he makes his way to the wall across Nicky, sliding down against it so he is sitting along with him. Nicky's eyes follow his every move, almost like he is studying Joe. 

"I am sorry," Nicky says suddenly. For what, Joe doesn't know - for killing him at the base? At the lab? A little over a day ago, in this garage where they still stand?

"You have nothing," Joe quickly says, "to be sorry for." He is quick to stop himself from saying what he wants to. From calling Nicky _habibi._ It's not a term of endearment. It is instinct, plain and simple.

Nicky sniffles quietly. "But I want to be. So please allow me to be sorry... _Joe_." 

It is said so feebly, but it hits Joe like a freight train. It his him in the _best_ way, it hits him in the _worst_ way, it reminds him that he never thought he would ever live to hear Nicky speak his name ever again.

"If anybody is to be sorry," Joe says tentatively, like he is scared Nicky will not remember, "it should be me."

Nicky breaks eye contact. "What happened on the train wasn't your fault."

Joe is suddenly and painfully aware that he is crying. He is aware that he had spent seventy-eight years blaming himself and dreaming of Nicky doing the same. That Nicky has come back to him seventy-eight years later, broken beyond belief, and even in his struggle to recall the most painful of memories, the very beginning of his torment, he still does not blame Joe. It's exactly what Nicky would do. 

Joe realizes, then, that Nicky is staring at the sketchbook he is still clutching white-knuckle tight to his chest. Joe hesitates and then sets the book down, sliding it across with such force that it hits Nicky's boot. 

Nicky picks it up cautiously, keeping his eye contact on Joe as he pulls it into his lap with one hand and begins to flips the pages. For a minute, his expression is frustratingly unreadable. Then his eyes are filled with something Joe cannot put a finger on. Sadness, perhaps, mixed with realization; of what, Joe does not know. He is not sure Nicky does either. But Joe can tell he is taking each drawing in, studying their lines, his expressions in them, anything that would even offer the slightest clue of a time long past.

His book is of sunsets, of moonrises, of landscapes that only he would stop to appreciate post-mission when Andy and Booker were dull with fatigue and aching for sleep. But mostly it is Nicky, of memories Joe had remembered him best; sunbathing after a swim in Corfu, in a deep sleep on an otherwise uncomfortable train ride across Istanbul, playing with a stray puppy that had found its way into their home in Calcutta.

Their little stone house in Malta, after Nicky had demanded Joe dance with him like a lunatic to some Frank Sinatra song playing on their big, broken radio. 

Suddenly, Nicky sets the book down and digs his hand into one of his pockets. He is quick to fish out a small piece of paper that Joe achingly realizes is _the_ photograph; _December, 1942_. Nicky places it amongst the middle pages, a delicate motion, and then shuts the book to slide it back in Joe's direction. 

"The man you knew..." he begins. "They shattered him. Into a million tiny pieces scattered over time. But even pieces can be recovered. So I am ashes." 

" _No_ ," Joe quickly returns. Before he can stop himself he is leaning over, a quick movement that causes Nicky to wince. 

_Patience_ , Joe is quick to remind himself. _He will find his way back to you._

"No," he quickly begins again, "you are Nicolo di Genova. Known to your friends as Nicky. Sometimes, I call you Nico. You cook like a dream. You have the grace of a swan in any fight but two left feet otherwise. And you are kind in ways this world will never deserve."

Nicky says nothing for a while. When he finds his words, he says, "you're not a morning person; it's why you rarely draw sunrises. You are a poet. It's why we all call you an incurable romantic. And whenever you smile, whenever you laugh..." he trails off, and Joe thinks he is finished speaking for a moment before remembering that in every decade, every century, Nicky would always forget the English word for-

"Crow's feet," Nicky suddenly finishes. 

Joe realizes then that in the short time Nicky has been returned to them, Joe had never smiled; at least not in a way that reached his eyes. And so Nicky must be drawing from memory. 

It's a start.

Andy's voice echoes in his head, distant: 

_The rest will follow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations:  
> Dove sono: Where am I?  
> Noi siamo la tua famiglia: We are your family.  
> È questo quello che pensi di noi: Is that what you think of us?  
> Cazzo: Fuck  
> Per favore: please  
> mio fratello: my brother
> 
> If any of you are dismayed by the fact that there is one more chapter and still several loose ends: don't worry! For now, I am fairly certain I will be closing out this story with one big fat ending, but if you see me add an extra chapter to this story, don't be surprised by that either.


	8. đavole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months after recovering Nicky, the team embark on their first mission with troubling consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost - let me apologize for how long it took to get this chapter out! I had trouble outlining the direction that I wanted this story to go in, which is why you might notice that the chapter count is once again (?) c: But the good news is that I've got a clear cut, happy ending in store for them. It was just longer than I had initially planned.
> 
> Warnings in this chapter include the usual canon typical violence. A character undergoes induced drowning as a form of torture.

Across hundreds of years and thousands of endeavors, Joe was always accustomed to unforeseen circumstances, and even now he has no trouble admitting four months after successfully jailbreaking Nicky out of Merrick Pharmaceuticals that there have been some unforeseen circumstances. 

For instance, Copley was quick to observe a substantial dip in organized crime across an alarming amount of syndicates - the apparent rumor being that Merrick had been murdered by his own scientific experiment, who then went rogue (and a corpse-filled bioweapons lab left very little room for interpretation). Mob bosses, politicians and terrorist cells were all scrambling, wondering if they were next, if the asset had somehow gained sentience like a robot in an Asimovian attempt to extract revenge on all of humanity.

Joe ponders this while observing Nile and Nicky playing an agreeably mundane round of Monopoly on a cloudy night in the middle of their Belgrade safe house. 

(Nile is winning. Nicky is quietly insisting that the rules of the game have changed since 1942). 

It was Andy who would begrudgingly accept Copley's proposal of a potential extraction in Belgrade. None of them were keen in their own ways, all pertaining to Nicky; Booker and Andy thought it was too soon, Nile was still beating the impossible dead horse that was _maybe he should go to therapy_ , and Joe - Joe had his own strong opinions. If he had his way he would hide Nicky away for centuries, away from the truly immeasurable extent of human cruelty that Nicky had been dealt to for a lifetime. 

But Nicky was not his to command, Nicky was his own man, and Nicky had spoken up amongst their bickering and voiced his own approval - even admitted that the past four months being idle had been a torment. That he wanted to immerse himself as much as he could into his former life, and that he wanted to atone for all his wrongdoing.

And to that they would remind him that he had done nothing wrong, and he would look them in the eyes and lie ("I know.")

So Copley had wired them the money and Booker took care of tickets. Their target, a good looking family man with unfortunate ties to the Serbian mafia, had not-so-mysteriously gone missing. Copley was positive he was still alive, describing him as a human call log for similar contacts in and around the region, and that it would be greatly shift the balance in INTERPOL's favor if the man - Bojanic - was found alive. 

They sharpened their knives and cleaned their guns, and in a little under an hour had the rest of the night to themselves. Andy takes Nile back to show her a new move after her fourth consecutive win against Nicky, leaving the three men inside. Joe doesn't care what Andy says, doesn't care that they're pushing four months; watching the game with Booker simply isn't the same. He had meant it when he said he needed time to even look at his brother the same way again.

Nicky is preoccupied with something in the kitchen. Joe could easily join him but he always allows himself to give Nicky space. It's what he's been doing since they had gotten him back. Joe is patient and he is kind; he has always been and he has always known it. So without question, he does everything he can to make sure Nicky knows he is safe and taken care of. He feels his eyes pool with tears every time Nicky refuses to meet his eyes, but he does not let them shed. _Habibi_ and a _more mio_ rest on the tip of his tongue but he does not even let the words form. The silence between him and Nicky when the team leave them alone is now crushing and unwanted where it used to be sweet and welcoming. 

It is harrowing; almost like they are on the train again. Nicky is so close, right there, within reach of Joe's fingertips but completely lost to Joe at the same time. 

At 954 years old, four months is nothing but perhaps a breath of fresh air, but Joe feels every second, minute, hour of this...this whatever this is. It must be heartbreak. 

He is a poet. An incurable romantic. He should know.

If it was not a mantra, it is now. He affirms this rather ruefully as he sits by the safe house's front, sketching away. For the first time in years he does not draw Nicky. A gentle reminder that he no longer has to draw Nicky from memory because Nicky is most likely in the other room wrapping his head around some twenty-first century invention.

"Joe?"

In a bitter role reversal, Joe now jumps at sudden sound of Nicky's voice, but he easily resettles when he notices Nicky is holding a mug in each hand.

"I made tea, if you'd like."

Joe bites down the urge to outright refuse. Nicky had been keen on Joe correcting him for each and every incorrect memory, and Joe still holds the same unfavorable opinion on the German variety of chamomile Nicky is holding out with a half-smile. But it's not like he had asked Nicky for tea. In true Nicky fashion, Nicky had foregone asking him and just done it anyway. An act of service. 

So he smiles back at Nicky in the the way Nicky remembers it ( _crow's feet_ ) and holds out his hand.

Nicky obliges, handing Joe the mug, and then stands by the threshold for an awkward moment. It's long enough for Joe to observe how much he seems to resemble the Nicky he knows best. He is clean-shaven now - Joe is able to spot his beauty mark on first glance - and his hair is now shorter and cropped, the way Joe remembers it in Malta, in Zurich...on the train. 

For a second, Joe thinks Nicky is going to turn on his heel and leave Joe with the tea, but instead he surprises both of them when he sits next to Joe, still a rather conservative distance than Joe is used to, and says, "this house. It is your favorite of the several you...we have collected. Second only to Paris, no?"

"A fact Booker must never know," Joe laments.

Just as Joe realizes Nicky is drawing from memory, Nicky continues, "it is a reasonable distance from the city, but still far enough that you can enjoy the silence. And..." he trails off for a minute. "The bedrooms aren't shared. And so that was very favorable."

If Nicky is flirting it must be entirely accidental, just like their earlier days. Besides, Nicky wasn't entirely clueless. He was well aware of how his past seemed to converge with Joe's, and there was no use in pretending otherwise. 

Joe makes a conscious decision to make sure he doesn't lift his eyebrows at that, because Nicky is right. They could afford a little more leisure in Belgrade, and the two bedroom unit usually meant Joe and Nicky would share a room and Andy and Booker would flip a coin for the other. But their current situation meant Joe would now share their room with Andy, and Nicky would have the other room for himself while Booker and Nile slept in the equally comfortable living room. Joe had no issue sharing a bed with Andy; they had done it countless times across countless years. It was just a strange, completely alien idea to him that he would ever have to share this bed in particular with anyone but Nicky. And Andy seemed to agree, though she did little to voice it. 

"I'm surprised you are able to recall that much," Joe says after a while.

"I surprise even myself," Nicky admits. "There is little, if any resemblance. I cannot remember seeing a television so massive," he cites as an example. "But the water runs warm now, which is good. Nile complains quite a lot about the WiFi but I don't know how to help her." 

Joe lets out a soft chuckle at that.

They sit there, five feet apart, the crisp autumn air almost a bleak reminder of the chaos and carnage that would follow tomorrow. 

"Joe," Nicky says so suddenly and so quietly, Joe thinks for a moment he hallucinates it. 

Joe angles his body slightly to face Nicky. The tea in his hands shakes within the confines of the mug. It is foreign, almost disgusting to feel this way. To be nervous around the love of his life. "Yes?"

Nicky's eyes meet his, the first time in days, the selenite green almost welcoming Joe home. Then he shakes his head, a jerky movement, almost like he is doubting himself. "You should get some sleep. Tomorrow will be here before we know it." 

Joe stares back simply, offers him a curt smile and a slow nod. 

Whatever Nicky chooses not to say hangs miserably in the air.

 _Be patient,_ echoes in Joe's head. 

_The rest will follow_ , echoes Andy. 

.

" _Fuck._ Again with this?" Nile exclaims.

"Always, _ma cherie_ ," says Booker, unceremoniously sliding a discarded rifle in Andy's direction. "What now, boss?" 

"We find Bojanic," Andy says as she nonchalantly loads the rifle, "and we get the fuck out of here." 

Nile gestures towards the a crystal clear plaque that suggests that they've just shot and killed their way to the third floor. "Third time's a charm?" 

Almost as if on cue, Joe rounds the corner, hightailing it from a dozen very pissed off looking men who curse and shoot after him. 

"Somehow I'm not so sure," Andy rolls her eyes, and takes two of the men out within the same second.

Nicky throws himself in Joe's direction, shooting a man aiming for Joe in the knee; Joe takes the opportunity to draw his sword and plunge it through the man's front, using his lifeless body as a shield against more gunfire now aimed at Nicky. In a sick way, Joe embraces the brutality of it all. This is authentic; this is them in one of the best ways Joe can remember. The way they work so seamlessly together is muscle memory to Joe, and perhaps it is wishful thinking, but it seems to be the same with Nicky. 

When they're through, Joe tosses a key card that Booker catches without even really looking. "Basement," he pants. 

Nile rolls her eyes. "Predictable."

The basement presents few challenges. Only two men guard it from the inside and they are dead within minutes. A twisting corridor lined with cells forces them to split up, and Joe tries to ignore the unfamiliar, fluttery feeling he gets when Nicky seems to gravitate towards him, because this is a mission, not a first date. 

There is a smart lock on the door at the end of basement that Joe unceremoniously shoots. In seconds, he and Nicky spill into the room. 

"Shit," Joe says, because they've found their guy in what he quickly deduces is a torture chamber. 

Nicky crosses the room in quick strides to kneel in front of the man, Joe following closely behind. He gently wrestles Bojanic's hands from his face, and Joe winces before he can help it; Bojanic is covered in terrible bruises and is missing several teeth. Joe can only tell because when he looks up at Nicky, he yelps like some kind of wounded animal and uses his feet to shuffle to the corner of the dingy room.

Nicky does not relent, only follows and says in passable Serbian, "we are here to help you. We have come to help."

The man looks up with impossibly wide eyes. He stares up at Nicky in a mixture of complete terror and awe. " _Đavole_ ," he says. 

Nicky freezes then, entirely against his own will, and his lips part to form words that never quite come together. Joe looks between the two of them, completely at a loss, because he is nowhere near fluent in Serbian but he's almost certain Bojanic is saying-

" _Đavole_ ," he repeats again, louder. " _Đavole. Đavole_!"

"Joe," comes a voice from behind them; Andy. She's suddenly flanked by Booker and Nile, guns drawn, but they only stare on in confusion at the scene unfolding before them. "What's wrong?"

Joe opens his mouth before remembering there is no tangible explanation, that he doesn't have any answers, just sputters, "I-"

Bojanic doesn't stop screaming or cowering in the corner away from Nicky. Andy plants herself between Nicky and Bojanic, crouching to speak directly to him. Whatever she says does little to calm him and he keeps his terrified gaze trained on Nicky. " _Đavole! Đavole_!"

It hits Joe then, in the worst possible way, that Merrick's exploits most likely meant this was not the first time Nicky and Bojanic had crossed paths. And whatever had happened, whatever Nicky had done completely out of his own control, very clearly left Bojanic with scars.

"Help me get him out of here," Andy says, snapping Joe out of his thoughts. Booker crosses the room to take Joe's place, where he is now frozen next to Nicky. He and Andy manhandle Bojanic out of the room, Bojanic who still keeps his gaze trained on Nicky, shrieking the word that is nothing but an awful sound to Joe at this point.

.

_For a self-righteous billionaire who very much lived up his own ass, the least Roland Merrick could have done in his underachieving, pathetic life was retain some semblance of humanity. Doppler was batshit insane, the evil scientist type out of a bad Hollywood film - Steven Merrick was certainly not an improvement, but he had a shred of dignity, and hid his sadism behind the same old utilitarian bullshit._

_Roland Merrick would practically salivate every single time he or his team were able to wrestle anything out of Nicky. He'd swoop in like a vulture at any opportunity to leverage Nicky's pain; to almost punish Nicky for something even he didn't have the answers to, like Nicky was withholding the secrets of immortality on purpose. It was something Nicky casually observed with every new instrument Merrick would unveil with the "intention" of understanding his biology._

_On one very unfortunate night, he is dragged out of his cell and manhandled into one of the labs, where Merrick stands flanked by multiple men and women in their pristine white coats._

_"There are others. I know there are, and to continue to doubt me at this point would be foolish," Merrick says as Nicky is roughly strapped into a strange, box shaped apparatus. "Who is Yusuf?"_

_Nicky stares blankly ahead at Merrick and does little to resist as he thinks to himself,_ shit, Booker was right. I do talk in my sleep.

_"Nothing?" Merrick spits. His voice is higher than usual. More cruel. "Perhaps we can help you remember."_

_The box is shut and Nicky is aware in seconds that it is slowly filling with water._

_He dies that night, so many times he loses count, so many time he struggles to maintain any single train of thought. All he knows is he is in a box, and it is filled with water, and it is hard to remember anything else when every nerve ending on his body is ironically on fire. After a while he is unable to even pin down how long it has been._

_The box is built so that a thick piece of glass keeps Nicky's agony in view of his tormenters, of the doctors and the scientists. In view of Merrick. It is when Merrick steps forward to watch him drown for the umpteenth time that he remembers where he is and why they are doing this to him. When he comes to again, after that realization, he is now aware that though cannot speak with his lips, perhaps he can with his eyes. So he stares ahead at Merrick and communicates that Yusuf is not sinking him. Yusuf is propelling him to the surface. Yusuf is survival, is the promise of it-_

_Joe, Yusuf. Yusuf, Joe._

_To live is Yusuf, to breathe is Yusuf, to survive is Yusuf._

_No man on Earth could convince him otherwise._

.

Bojanic is in INTERPOL's custody. The dismantling of the headquarters he had been captive in is enough to send ripples of fear throughout related syndicates, so mission accomplished and then some. But there is no sense of victory, no air of enthusiasm when they return to the safe house. Nicky makes a beeline for his room, leaving the four of them in the living space to helplessly stare on as he gently closes the door behind him.

It is horribly foreign to Joe, even all these years later, to return from a mission and not immediately collapse in bed with Nicky beside him. To not take Nicky's outstretched hand and let himself be led into the shower or the bath, where Nicky would gently wash away all remnants of the last twenty four hours. To not let himself go limp in Nicky's embrace.

Before he can stop himself, Joe slowly crosses their living space and knocks gently on the bedroom door. "Nicolo?" he softly prods.

There is a horrible silence for a while before Nicky's voice calls, " _è aperto_."

Joe does not revel in his relief. He quickly enters and shuts the door behind him. Nicky is sitting on the edge of the bed, his body facing away from Joe's. His longsword is discarded carelessly on the floor.

"Can I get you anything?" Joe gently asks. He quietly observes the way Nicky's hair still clings to the sweat of his forehead. "Should I draw you a bath?" 

Nicky shakes his head almost immediately at that. "No, thank you."

"Did you remember him?" Joe asks after a while.

Nicky pauses. "Yes," he says. Lets out a sigh and adds, "and no."

Joe does not push for more. He surmises that not only does Nicky probably not remember much more, but forcing him to would be completely counterproductive, an insult to the progress Nicky has made. To leave it unspoken would be better for the two of them. 

"I remember all of them," Nicky confesses. His voice is shaky. Joe is certain he sees the glistening of tears in his eyes, even in the dark. "And none of them at the same time. No names. Only fragments and faces." 

Joe's feet are moving of their own accord, and before he knows it, he is kneeling in front of Nicky. He resists the urge to hold him or touch him. He is hesitant to even look ahead and offer any direct eye contact but he manages. "Nicolo..." he begins. 

"You do not have to tell me that's not who I am," Nicky says. It is not laced with malice; in fact, Joe sees his the corner of his lip twitch upwards, almost as if Joe is in need of solace. "Though I do appreciate it, and I have these past couple of months. I know I am not that man anymore. I just do not know how to live what that man has done." 

"You will," Joe reassures. "I have not been able to promise you much in a very long time. But this much I can." 

"Stay," Nicky says suddenly, in a way that Joe is able to tell is almost involuntary. He licks his lips. "Will you stay?"

Joe studies the desperation in his eyes before nodding. "Yes. Yes, I'll stay." _Of course I will stay with you._

Nicky nods his thanks. Joe pulls away, allowing Nicky to stand. He eyes the door cautiously. This bedroom is considerably smaller than their old one, consisting only of a bed, an old sofa in the corner, and a closet. The bathroom is right outside, and he could seriously go for a shower, but the exhaustion in Nicky's eyes indicate that he is more than ready to fall asleep.

The shower will always be there in the morning, Joe counters. He'll probably have to wrestle either Nile or Andy for dibs, but it will still be there. 

Joe crosses the room carefully to the sofa. One by one, he takes off his tactical gear and slips out of his boots. Nicky is quiet as he mirrors Joe's movements, and soon both of them are clad only in their undershirts and pants. Nicky pulls the covers back to slip under them.

Joe watches him carefully, then sets himself down on the sofa. It is not the most comfortable, and is definitely sporting a few loose springs, but it will do. "Goodnight," he says quietly to Nicky.

"Goodnight," echoes Nicky from under the sheets. 

They stay that way for a while. Joe keeps his eyes trained on Nicky's sleeping form as his head lolls against the side of the sofa to where it is comfortable. 

_"Can you - ?"_

Joe jumps at the sudden sound and blinks sleep out of his eyes.

Nicky clears his throat and mutters a quiet apology. "Can you come here?" 

Perhaps it's a lucid dream, but the way Nicky looks ahead at him, not expectant but hopeful, convinces Joe otherwise. "Yes," he breathes out.

He crosses to the opposite side of the bed. It is modest-sized, nowhere near as big as the four poster of their old bedroom, but it is large enough to fit the two of them while also providing distance. Joe climbs in to rest atop the sheets, the central heating in the house enough to keep him warm. He lies flat on his back a couple of feet away from where Nicky has his back turned to him. "Is this okay?" Joe asks cautiously.

"Yes," Nicky says, nodding though Joe can't see his face. " _Grazie_ ," he adds quietly.

"Of course," Joe exchanges.

"Goodnight," Nicky says again.

"Goodnight."

For the first time in months, Joe pays little attention to the distance between them. He is not tormented by Nicky being within reach but just shy of his fingertips at the same time. Tonight, it is enough to watch Nicky's back rise and fall with every breath; a gentle reminder that they found him, that this isn't just some cruel and prolonged dream Joe has been having. That when Joe wakes up tomorrow, Nicky will still be there. He will be in need Joe's help in forgetting Bojanic and perhaps others, but he will be there, and Joe welcomes every moment of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations:  
> Đavole: devil  
> Habibi: my love  
> amore mio: my love  
> è aperto: it's open  
> Grazie: thank you
> 
> Sorry for the horrific flashback! I do want to include fragments of Nicky's POV in this as well - it's important to his character, and how much he will come to realize how he loves/needs Joe. 
> 
> The next chapter will hopefully be out soon and I thank you guys so much again for your patience! I want to give these boys the most amazing send off, since they TRULY both deserve it. If that is a chapter or maybe two I still have yet to decide. Also, I need to tie loose ends with Booker! He and Joe have a lot of talking to do.


	9. culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky's progress is halted when he unearths a particularly gruesome memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you've made it this far, know that I'm very sorry I let this story go this long without an update. Life kind of got in the way, so I hope this more than makes up for the wait! 
> 
> Some warnings of this chapter of which there are a FEW:  
> There is some smut in this chapter! Joe ~dreams~ of Nicky in a particular situation. Also, talk of previous sexytimes.  
> Usual violence, but this chapter deals with Nicky's memories of a particularly gruesome hit where he came in contact with a child (no children are murdered, though).  
> Sequence where drowning is described.
> 
> Enjoy! Translations are at the bottom should you need them, although I feel like at this point, many of us in this tag know a good amount of Italian lol.

"Is that rain?" Nicky mumbles.

It startles Joe out of the last vestiges of sleep. " _Welcome to Kolkata._ "

Nicky lets out a small, pleasurable noise. He stretches as much as Joe will allow in the bearhug he has him in. Then he curves his naked body back towards Joe ever so slightly so that ass seems to graze Joe's-

" _Hal tuhawil qatli_?" Joe mumbles. 

Nicky tsks, scandalized, like he would ever do such a thing, like he is affronted that Joe would even suggest otherwise. "I can't say I know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" Joe says, and he only draws Nicky closer, ignoring the distracting way the bed creaks beneath them. He drapes himself across Nicky's back and is suddenly connecting his mouth to every freckle on the side of Nicky's neck. It is barely light outside; only a small patch of sunlight finds its way into their room through the lazily drawn curtain right next to the closet. Joe disregards it. He does not need the light. He knows Nicky's body perhaps better than his own. "How about now?"

Nicky laughs, a quiet thing. Then he repeats the motion once, twice more; a pattern now, not a coincidence, Joe all but confirms.

He freezes for a short moment. Okay. Two for two. A moment later he's pressing his forehead into where he had just been placing kisses on Nicky's neck, rubbing the skin there as he gently shakes his head. " _It's too early for this._ "

Joe is right; it's an ungodly hour, and neither of them would even be awake if it hadn't been for the rain. But these nights tend to be the best. The kind of sex that arises from that simple, desperate need for one another. No mission coming home nor one to prepare for. Just a reminder that sometimes, all they have is each other. 

Joe feels Nicky's grin in the way his shoulder tenses.

" _'iinaa arydk,"_ Nicky whispers. 

It's barely an argument, but Joe is willing to oblige. He lazily brushes his fingers down Nicky flank until they grip at his waist. Then they trickle down to his outer thigh and a little back up again to his ass, for Joe to find he is still wet and loose. He chuckles gently at that, the reminder that he had had Nicky the night before, and twice at that. It does not take long for Joe to push his length into Nicky, reveling in the familiarity of the heat, of Nicky's moans, as if to say he had been waiting the whole night for Joe, for this very moment.

Joe begins a steady motion, and Nicky lets out a noise so obscene, Joe has half a mind to cup his hand over his mouth before remembering that they are alone, that this bed is their own, that whatever looks Booker or Andy even think of shooting them at breakfast tomorrow can only be returned with, _you left us to our own devices in a king size. You get what you get._

"Joe," Nicky is panting, "my Joe, _Yusuf,_ hayaat qalbee-"

Joe burrows his forehead where he had just been pressing kisses moments before. There's almost no rhythm to his thrusts. No, this is instinct. This is his lifeline. This is his Nicky. 

He removes his hand from Nicky's hip to grasp at Nicky's length instead. They move together, Joe's thrusts in turn pushing Nicky deeper into his grip, and Nicky is coming in no time; Joe can tell by the way he stills and clamps down on him. Joe fucks him through it, Nicky's gasps a familiar, distant thing. His hand finds its way around Nicky's throat, to feel the incredible pounding of blood through his veins, his spare arm wrapping around Nicky's waist. Nicky's hand goes to grasp at Joe's curls as he coaxes his husband along. 

When Joe comes, he buries his forehead into Nicky's shoulder, grounding himself in touch.

"Good?" he asks when he comes down, pressing a chaste, open-mouthed kiss on Nicky's shoulder, like they hadn't just done what they did, like Nicky had simply awoken Joe to ask what he had wanted to eat that morning.

"No," Nicky says, and his eyes are still closed. "Better."

They are quiet for a moment, Joe resettling into his favorite spot on Nicky's neck. Suddenly, Nicky shifts, and Joe is sure it is for him to get out of bed and stretch, to get a kettle ready for Andy and Booker, who would be awake in no time. But he moves so that his nose is now buried in Joe's neck, his arm lazily thrown across Joe's chest, his thigh nestled between Joe's legs.

" _Ya rouhi_ ," Nicky mumbles, his breath hot where it curls around Joe's neck. 

.

Several inconsistencies successfully lure Joe, who is equal parts mentally and physically exhausted, back to reality. First, that they are well out of the rainy season, second, that Nicky is indeed lying next to him, albeit clothed and at least three feet away, and third, that there is an uncomfortable, distracting firmness where he is pressed on his stomach.

Joe curses under his breath. 

He does the only think he can think of; he forces himself out of bed, _quietly_ , and takes care of it in the bathroom. Like some _goddamn caveman_ , he bitterly ruminates as he does the deed and flushes the toilet right after. When he turns off the lights and steps out of the bathroom, he suppresses a yelp at the sight of Nicky sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes like a disgruntled toddler.

" _Oh, mio dio._ Nicky."

Nicky's expression suddenly changes, and he offers up a smile that reach his tired eyes. "You're up early." He yawns. "Bad dreams?"

 _Ha-ha,_ Joe thinks. "Something like that."

Nicky takes a minute to stretch then swings his legs off the mattress. He grabs the pair of pants he had discarded on the nearby chair and begins to pull them on. "Well, good. You can keep me company while I make breakfast."

.

Kolkata hadn't been the plan. After Serbia, it had been the safe house in Paris and then an unspoken, resounding _we'll just go from there_ between the five of them. But October was there before any of them knew it, and an wholly unnecessary chill filled the air. Nicky didn't say much, which wasn't unlike him. It wasn't unlike him at all to put the needs of others before his own, to not voice his own discomfort unless the situation absolutely called for it; but Joe could still tell something weighed on his mind, and the change in weather was only making things worse.

Booker had been the first to suggest the safe house in Kolkata. It wasn't exactly subtle, and it had been the first thing he had said in _months_ that Joe had actually acknowledged. He'd gestured in Nile's direction, mumbling something about how she'd never been, and Joe was silently grateful (though he'd never let Booker know). Even now, none of them were willing or comfortable bringing up Nicky's newfound aversion to snow and cold unless he would first. 

So Kolkata it was. It wasn't a vast improvement, but _baby steps_ , Nile reminds them all after Nicky excuses himself for a shower on a day where he had barely said anything except to greet them all a good morning. 

This morning was a grim repeat. Joe watches the way Nicky makes tea for them and can practically _see_ the tension lines in his shoulders as he pours it out into separate mugs. He takes care not to gawk, but he's made an observation of the infinite amount of times Nicky seems to lick his lips, to gnaw the bottom half almost like he is trying to tear it off. He makes no effort to meet Joe's eyes and responds to any of their questions in short grunts that either sound like "yes" or "no". He'd seemed fine when he'd woken up, but perhaps that was only the pleasant morning haze Nicky always seemed to be in when he knew he'd still be able to catch the sunrise. 

Still, Joe's morning, er, _situation_ still occupies a sizable amount of space in his brain, and the guilt rushes through him before he is even able to provide himself any sort of explanation of Nicky's behavior. 

"Are you really drinking tea outside?”

He looks up Andy quite literally looking down on him, her form almost entirely a silhouette against the backlight of the merciless Kolkata sun. Still, Joe is quickly able to read her bemused expression.

"I need the fresh air," Joe answers, too quickly for his own good. 

Andy balks but seats herself next to him anyway. "You're ridiculous."

"You're nosy."

"Maybe. But I have to be, _fratellino."_ She gives him a playful shrug. "You're quieter this morning. Even more than Nicky."

"My mind has been occupied," he justifies. It's not a complete lie. 

"With?" Andy prods.

Joe tuts in frustration and stares indignantly ahead, towards the gate that separated their safe house from the bustling neighborhood only a mile away. 

"You call it nosiness, I call it wanting to help," Andy shrugs.

Joe relents. Andy is his big sister anyway, and she had her own ways of getting answers that he'd rather she not resort to. "I...dreamt last night."

"Of..." Andy leads.

Joe shrugs childishly. "Nicolo."

"Doing?" Andy says impatiently.

Joe shoots her a _are-you-really-going-to-make-me-say-it_ look.

"Oh." Andy's expression is unreadable for a moment. It looks like disbelief mixed with something that looks like amusement. In the millennia he has known her, Joe has never known her to be speechless. Then the realization dawns on her.  Another beat and then she says, "I mean...okay."

Joe rolls his eyes. "You see? You were better off not to have asked."

"That's not what I meant!" Andy quickly assures, but the corners of her mouth tell a different story. "Just that...I guess I'm just confused about why you're being so uptight about it. I mean, it's _Nicky_ we're talking about, right?"

"It's...appalling," Joe settles on. "To think of him that way when he's lying comatose next to me? It's shameful." 

"It is _not_ shameful," she says incredulously. "What is so shameful about the fact that the love of your life came back from the dead, and after seventy-eight years of not being able to so much as touch him, you're having dreams of better..." she pauses for a moment before settling on, " _memories?_ "

Joe isn't able to provide any answer to the rather rhetorical question. He throws a hand up to rub at his tired eyes. 

"Besides," Andy says, "you've quite literally nearly broken that bed. _Multiple_ times. Booker isn't the biggest fan of this safe house for a reason. You're really gonna give yourself this much shit for remembering up some fun times?"

 _Fun times_ , Joe considers. That's certainly one way of putting it. Joe had damn nearly put his hand through the wall on one occasion. Nicky had almost torn off a sizable part of the headboard on another. It was a wonder it had taken this long in the first place for Joe to start remembering the _fun times._

"And Nicky wouldn't fault you," Andy continues. "And even if he did, good luck getting him to tell you that. He's been practically mute since yesterday." 

Joe snaps his head to look directly into Andy's eyes. He'd barely seen Nicky yesterday. He'd gotten up, in true Nicky fashion at an ungodly hour, muttering something about a bazaar Andy and Booker had planned to make a day trip to. In his fatigue, Joe had heard Booker's name, which earned Nicky a prompt _no_. When he'd woken up, Nicky had been gone; Nile had been finishing off the remnants of breakfast, and Joe had spent the day answering all of his little sister's questions about literally everything between the first crusade and modern history. Andy, Booker and Nicky had returned a little past nine, and Nicky had made a beeline for their bedroom; by the time Joe had followed him, he'd already been asleep. 

"Yesterday? Why, what happened yesterday?"

Andy exhales through her nose, _clearly_ regretting bringing it up at all. "We didn't want to worry you," she says defensively before anything else. 

"Well look how that turned out," Joe snaps. 

Andy shrugs a shoulder, not indignantly, but almost in agreement with Joe. "We were making our way towards the market and he stopped right in his tracks in front of this... _building_ that neither I nor Book could recognize. Looked like some kind of house. He said everything was okay, but you know how Nicky's always been absolute shit at lying. Anyway, he was quiet once we'd reached Burrabazar. We lost track of him not long after that. Book absolutely lost his mind. _Imagine_ ," she says humorlessly. At Joe's perplexed expression, Andy continued, 'but we found him, _obviously_. Back at that fucking house, because it only made sense. I was so relieved I could have cried. Book went _full_ dad mode on him, which was... _interesting_. But he'd said everything was okay. He just needed to be alone, needed to think." 

"Did he say anything else?" Joe demands.

"Of course not," Andy says.

"I should have gone with you," Joe snaps.

"Why? So he could have induced a damn-near heart attack in you, too?" 

Joe shakes his head, ignoring the joke entirely. "He shouldn't be alone."

Andy nods quietly at that. "Look, all I know is that we don't have one surefire way to deal with all this shit. And neither does he, and he knows that. And whatever memories dredge up for him...wether he wants to tell us is _entirely_ up to him. But in the least _biblical_ sense, you do share a bed with him. So if I were you, _fratellino-_ "

She and Joe exchange a look as she playfully knocks her knee against his.

"I wouldn't hold my breath." 

.

They turn in quickly that night, for no other reason than their extended vacation had simply allowed them the opportunity to sleep early. It is routine for Joe now. He and Nicky seem to get tired around the same time anyway, and they do nothing more than share a glance before they're both up and making a beeline for the bedroom. Sometimes, Joe will wait for Nicky to finish putting away the dishes. Sometimes, Nicky will wait for Joe to finish watching whatever is on the television. But rarely do either of them verbally communicate that they are ready to go to sleep and that they would prefer the company; a sense of normalcy Joe does not let go unappreciated.

Tonight is a little different. First, as Joe settles in next to Nicky, he notices the way Nicky seems to be staring at nothing in particular. His tired eyes are wide, an indication that he likely won't be getting a full night's rest. 

Joe can't find it in himself to ignore it. For the innumerable time that day, he bites down the urge to reach out, to touch Nicky's face, his arm, to lovingly trace circles into the palms of his hand.

"Nicky."

Nicky is snapped out of his thoughts, and turns to meet Joe's gaze for the first time that night. Joe observes the selenite green of his eyes, even in the dark. 

"Yes?" Nicky says.

"Are you alright?"

Nicky flashes him a quick smile and a curt nod. " _Si. Tutto benne._ " 

Joe doesn't remember falling asleep. Only Nicky's unconvincing reassurance that all was well before he is suddenly engulfed in water, gasping for even the tiniest amount of air - screaming and only growing more frustrated when only more water fills his lungs. He kicks his way towards the surface, it's so near - he hears voices screaming in a language he does not understand - and the sudden and terrible yet familiar feeling of death embraces him in a way that he does not recognize-

Joe wakes up and blinks tears out of his eyes. He shakes them off his face before he is able to taste them - shaking off the memories of the cruel waters - and even is his haze, is able to feel the clammy hand clamped down hard around his wrist.

Nicky's.

Joe tries not to give into the overwhelming senses that Nicky's touch seems to give him, because he is quick to remember the woman in his dreams, the water-

They stare at each other through the dark, both of them now sitting up in the bed. 

"Did you-"

" _Una donna-"_

Both of them scramble out of bed. Joe fumbles for the lamp switch next to the bed, crossing the room behind Nicky, who is already pulling the door open to see the paper white face of Andy. Behind her, Booker is shaking his head in complete disbelief, and Nile is troublingly rubbing at her temple. 

Andy is the first to speak. " _Shit._ "

.

The wonders of the internet coupled with Joe's accurate traces allow Booker to quickly establish the most crucial facts: the woman they had dreamt is named Quynh. She lives in Ho Chi Minh City and drowned in the Saigon River. The details on that are unsurprisingly hazy, even moreso when Copley is able to find out that she hadn't simply fallen in - no, she'd effectively been murdered by a cruel group of men with no underlying motive. And she'd _drowned..._ over and over again before she had finally been able to fight her way out of the makeshift cage they had entrapped her in. 

They continue to dream of her, and she's most likely seeing all of them as well; in Joe's dreams, he sees a confused and terrified woman, wandering Ho Chi Minh's streets in complete and utter fear, with no one and nothing to cling to - and he can only imagine the visions of five equally confused strangers can't be of much help.

"Whoever she is, she's confused and she is scared, and she's more alone than she has ever been in her entire life," Nicky says to them over a dinner one night that none of them can particularly stomach. "Even I remember what it it was like." 

It's the first thing he's said in days.

Almost on cue, Copley calls Andy with the details of a discrete flight that will land them in Ho Chi Minh, but that's the easy part down; Quynh is elusive and they all dream up a different location every night. Tracking her down in a city that has vastly changed since the last time any of them had been there would be tricky, but not something none of them wouldn’t be up for. It would take take days, _easily,_ before they’d be able to get a hold of her.

The night before the flight, Andy beckons Joe outside with a jerk of her neck. She waits until she is out of earshot to lay out the surprising news: "I want you to stay put here."

Joe only stares back at her, his lips parted in protest to say, "Boss-"

"The less of us, the better," Andy cuts him off. "Besides, let me get Booker out of your hair before you kill him. And Nile could use the experience. We'll meet you back here. You _and_ Nicky."

Joe lifts an eyebrow. "Is there an underlying motive here you're not telling me about?" 

Andy musters up a quiet chuckle. "You wish. Nicky, he...he remembers best around you, and only you. It'll be good for you. For you _both_." 

Joe doesn't argue. Truthfully, he'd idolized a near future where he and Nicky could get away, just the two of them, any place Nicky would like; and each and every time, he'd hear the waves crashing on the shores of their little stone house in Malta. But it had become nothing more than a distant fantasy, something Joe was quick to accept. Nicky needed his family in the same way they had all needed each other. Save Nile, those seventy eight years had done a number on _all_ of them.

Joe had been more than ready to begin healing. He only hopes the same for Nicky. 

.

It is morning when Andy shuts the trunk of the shoddy rental that that is bound for the airport. Then she comes around to bring Nicky into a deep hug, rubbing his neck comfortingly as she whispers something Joe cannot hear. Then she moves towards Joe to repeat the motion, telling him, " _don't break the bed."_

Nile follows the motion shortly after. When she moves on to Nicky, Joe willingly locks eyes with Booker from where he stands in front of the rental. Booker, to his credit, does not look down at his feet for once, and offers Joe a tentative smile.

Joe cocks his head in the opposite direction from where they are all standing, moving until he are out of earshot.

Booker follows. When they both settle a respectable distance away, he begins, "Yusuf-"

"I don't want to be angry with you anymore," Joe says. 

Booker nods in agreement. "I don't want that as well. But you are entitled to feel however you want to feel."

"I'm aware," Joe notes. "And what I feel for you is forgiveness." 

Booker nods again at that. " _Merci beaucoup_."

"For Nicky," Joe continues. "Andy is right. He's getting better, more and more everyday. We have to be strong, if not for ourselves, for him." 

" _Pour Nicolas,_ " Booker agrees. "And for our new sister."

Joe nods, and for the first time in what feels like forever, smiles at his brother. They do not hug - they're not there, not quite yet - but the thought of doing so is no longer a distant memory. 

Joe and Nicky end up waving goodbye until the car is out of view, standing by the gate to the safe house as they do so. Joe is so sure he imagines the brush of Nicky's warm fingers against his own before it happens again. 

Joe does not entwine their fingers like he is so used to doing. He just lets Nicky do the exploring, lets Nicky trace around his palm, almost as if he'd read Joe's mind nights ago. In moments his hand is gone entirely, and Joe doesn't realize he's standing alone before he turns around to see Nicky already by the threshold. 

.

It is early in the afternoon when Nicky speaks to Joe for the first time that day. His unnatural silence was something that Joe had grown somewhat accustomed to, but with only the two of them around the house, it was even worse of a blow. 

Regardless, Joe makes himself available at all times, presenting himself within Nicky's line of vision should Nicky ever feel like finally speaking. He is lounging on a stool in front of the kitchen counter reading from a first edition Booker had left behind, his index finger pressed to his temple when Nicky comes around to set a mug of tea in front of him.

" _Grazie_ ," he says, setting down the book to blow over the cup. " _Grazie_ , Nicolo." 

" _Prego_ ," Nicky smiles. He settles back into one of the chair surrounding the table in the middle of the kitchen to face Joe.

Joe does not push. Just throws Nicky one more look, watching his fingers as he circles the rim of the mug before returning to _Don Quixote._

"I'm sorry," Nicky says suddenly. "Of how I've been lately. I do not mean to be rude."

Joe's head snaps up. _You could never be,_ Joe thinks. "You're not," he says instead. He doesn't bring up Burrabazar, not unless Nicky does first. He sets the mug down to circle around the counter, leaning against it so he is a respectable distance away from Nicky. "I'm just concerned is all. You've been quiet as of late. I fear that - I don't know, perhaps I did something, _said_ something that bothered you?"

It hits Joe then, completely out of nowhere and even in the relief of Andy's words from yesterday, that maybe Nicky _had_ been awake that morning. Maybe he had gotten up earlier than Joe was able to tell (he was a morning person), heard him curse under his breath at his, _uh,_ morning situation, heard him shuffle into the bathroom, heard him relieve himself - he couldn't have been that loud, he took extra care to be quiet-

"No. You could never," Nicky affirms, and Joe feels a surge of warmth at the familiarity of the words.

Joe feels the corners of his mouth twitch in relief. He lifts himself off the stool to stand in front of the counter, leaning against it with his hands on either side. "I'm glad to know it wasn't my doing. But please, Nicolo - if something weighs on your mind, do not feel as though you can't talk to me about it."

Nicky considers that. He stares at Joe long enough until his gaze falters, and he licks his lips nervously. "I've been...remembering. These last couple of days." 

"Oh?" Joe says, coating his voice in as much neutrality as he could muster. He stifles his own hopes as he prods, "that is good, no?"

"I suppose," Nicky offers. He is quiet for a painful moment. "It was...must have been three, four days ago now. Andy, Booker and I, we...we passed by this house and it - it stood out to me in a way I could not ignore. It was screaming bright orange, bright yellow, bright red to me, where Andy only saw brown and grey. I heard voices, heard... _pleas_ , where they could only observe silence. I saw faces where Booker told me it was completely abandoned. That's when I knew."

Nicky leans forward where he is sitting in the dining room chair. He buries his face in his hands.

"Nicolo," Joe whispers. "Talk to me."

Nicky lets out a deep breath, pulling his hands down so that they only cover his mouth. His eyes are wet. Then he says, "I had to remember, Joe. I had to go back, and so I did. It was stupid, and I shouldn't have just left Andy and Booker like that but I - I had to do this. I found a boy; he couldn't have been older than twelve. And even he knew of what had happened in that house. So I asked him, and he told me."

"What did he know?" Joe says quietly.

"Gayen," Nicky says. "That was all I needed to hear before I started remembering. He was... _prominent_ across a string of syndicates in the region. He must have grown too powerful, too confident, I don't know, but - Merrick, he didn't have a dog in the fight. He was probably just promised a hefty sum, because he sent me after Gayen. ' _No survivors,'_ those were their direct orders."

He exhales loudly and wipes a tear before he even allows it to fall. "I don't remember Gayen's face very well, nor his wife. But his...h-his...daughter..."

Joe chokes on his own breath, because surely even under these circumstances, even _Nicky_ wouldn't-

"I couldn't do it, Joe," Nicky says, almost as if he was asking Joe's forgiveness. "I wouldn't. I fled. Didn't think. Just ran. Left the gun, the knife, _everything_ behind. When Merrick tracked me down, he was very displeased, to say the least. But what was he going to do? Kill me?" 

_Of course not,_ Joe thinks. Probably just punish him with the most inhumane contraption he could have trumped up at the time before wiping Nicky's memories again and acting like it never happened. 

"Her name was Preshti. She ended up moving to Bangalore to live with her grandparents. She's still there. Fully grown, one fifth of a team of scientists with leading research in Parkinson's disease." 

Joe is at a complete loss. He doesn't know what to say. That this story has a happy ending? No, because none of this should have happened at all. The senseless murders, Nicky's never-ending torment, Merrick and Doppler and the train-

"I've been quiet because I've been thinking it through," Nicky admits. "Considering my options. And I've decided that...I think I want to go see her."

"No," Joe says immediately, pushing himself off from where he is leaning against the counter. "No, Nicky. You can't do that."

Nicky's eyebrows furrow. It's a rare sight, foreign to Joe even before he had fallen off the train. "No?" he repeats simply.

Joe rubs at his eyes before bringing his hands in front of his chest, almost as if to plead. "Nicolo, _listen to me_. I've lov-" he bites his tongue. "I've... _known_ you for 900 years, known you for your kindness and your warmth. I have always believed this world has never deserved it, not especially the endless way you seem to want to do right by people who are not deserving of it. And Preshti, she _absolutely_ deserves to be done right by. But, Nicky, _per favore_ , listen to me - you cannot be the one to do that for her."

Nicky balks. "How can you say that?"

"What will you do? How can you possibly apologize or explain things in a way where she won't think she's gone mad? How will you explain what happened to her parents? How will you possibly explain how you have not aged since that night?"

Nicky turns his head so he is now facing away from Joe. He shakes his head, but at what, Joe does not know. Joe's pleas? His own flawed reasoning? 

"You'd only be doing more harm," Joe says.

"Of course," Nicky snaps, "of course harm is all I'd be doing, because it is all I know how to do." 

" _No_ ," Joe quickly affirms. "Of course that is not true. Nor is it what I meant. Nicolo, _per favore_. I just need you to be reasonable." 

"Reasonable," Nicky laughs bitterly. "Where was reason when I took them both by the hair and cut their-"

"Enough," Joe says, taking multiple steps forward. He takes a step back when Nicky physically recoils for the first time in weeks. Dismisses it for now to say, "none of that was your fault, Nicky."

Nicky shakes his head and the fat tears that have welled in his eyes begin to fall on his lap. "Why should I offer up myself forgiveness when I cannot even beg for her's?"

"Because there is nothing within yourself to forgive," Joe pleads. " _You are not that man._ "

Nicky winces at that. Joe can tell he is overwhelmingly tired of hearing those words in that order. It's all he, Andy, Booker and Nile had been able to say for five months. "You say it so often you have no other choice but to believe it," Nicky says. He pushes himself away from the table, averting Joe's gaze entirely as he rubs the remnants of tears out of his eyes. "But I can't. 

Joe's heart breaks for him, so much that it renders him speechless and immobile, _completely_ helpless as he watches Nicky cross the living area in slow strides to make his way towards their bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, a terrible _click_ resounding through the house as he locks himself in - and, in more ways than one, locks Joe out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations (if you notice any errors feel free to correct me!):  
> Hal tuhawil qatli: Are you trying to kill me?  
> 'iinaa arydk: I want you  
> Ya rouhi: my soul  
> fratellino: little brother  
> Si. Tutto benne: yes, Im fine  
> Una donna: a woman  
> Merci beaucoup: thank you so much  
> Pour Nicolas: for Nicolas  
> grazie: thank you  
> prego: you're welcome
> 
> sorry to end on such a sad note! But this was always gonna be a really bumpy ride with lots of ups and downs for our boys. Also, did any of you guys think I was gonna include Quynh in this? I was excited to finally give her an arc where she's not drowning for eternity! 
> 
> The next chapter will likely be the last, but hey, how many times have I said that at this point? But just look forward to a lot more healing and making up. Remember, they're both alone in this house.... ;)


	10. track_05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone with the safe house to themselves, Joe and Nicky come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again!!! I hope you enjoy this chapter, there's a generous amount of fluff (I hope) and it's stuff I've been excited to get around to. As always, thank you for reading and for you comments! 
> 
> Some warnings for this chapter: usual violence with a brief scene dealing in torture (in the beginning).

_He spends his days with his bare knees scraping against cement as he kneels in front of his cot, whispering pleas into tightly wound fists. It's something he's been reduced to. After Yusuf, Nicky was so sure every prayer had been answered._

_It was either this or laying in silence until the ceiling above him would inescapably form Yusuf's beautiful face. Andy, and her high cheekbones. Booker and the impossible beginnings of a smile. And from there on out, memories._

_There were many to choose from, if there was to be reprieve to any of this. Flickers of moments that come to light even in their mundanity. Andy lunging at him from a bush outside their home in Athens, for no reason other than she could. Booker being impatient, demanding to taste something aromatic Nicky had brought to a boil one night in a dingy flat in New York City. Nicky rolling his eyes, waiting for Booker to blow it cool before deliberately staining the tip of his nose with his wooden spatula._

_Yusuf..._

_Doppler won't tell him how long it has been and he is in too much pain most of the time to keep track in what was obviously a fear tactic, so he has to force himself to remember it can't possibly have been that long. He draws from memory the last time he can remember seeing Yusuf so happy._

_He sees a radio that can't do its job. He hears Frank Sinatra's voice on a sunny afternoon. He is face to face with the wrinkles that form in the corners of Yusuf's eyes when he smiles - the English term always escapes him, no matter how many times he is reminded._

_A stone cottage in Malta. Nicky allows the tears to stream down his face. He wants to taste the sea._

_Taste Yusuf._

_He forces himself up, lets his legs lock into place before he allows his broken body to cross the cell to the wall opposite him._

" _I'll never smile again," he begins as he runs his palm along the cool concrete of his prison, his steps uncoordinated as he makes yet another round around the room; it is lost on him entirely how many times he has done this now. "Until I smile at you."_

_"I'll never laugh again," he manages another time, as they force him down a corridor familiar to him now. He is flanked on all sides by guards armed to the teeth, his wrists chained together in front of him, hastily connected to a harness around his torso. They will not take their chances. Though his captors take pleasure in his pain, though they are scum-of-the-Earth type who won't profess that they take delight in his misery, they cannot afford any more losses; on his third day of captivity, Nicky had counted six fatalities, grinning at the realization through bloodied teeth._

_"What good would it do?" one rainy night as they strap him in. He had slipped in and out of listening to their agenda for the day. He was completely unaware what number trial this was, nor could he find it in himself to care. "For tears would fill my eyes, my heart would realize..."_

_"It's worse than the screaming_ , _" observes one of the doctors in German. He uses the term doctors loosely. These people...well, monsters is a bit melodramatic, but Nicky is almost 900 years old. He's dealt in monsters for lifetimes, and even this does not compare._

_A laugh from his left; a familiar pain on his breastbone._

_"This ought to shut him up."_

_"Within my heart," Nicky continues, "I know I will never start, to smile again-"_

_He is cut off by his own screams._

.

When Joe wakes up on the plush sofa that engulfs the living space, he struggles to remember he had cried himself to sleep last night - come to think of it, he can't remember much after Nicky had effectively disappeared for what was now going on twelve worrying hours. He hadn't come out for dinner, which Joe completely understood, himself unable to even think of stomaching anything. And the master bedroom they shared had its own bathroom, so Nicky had no real reason to come out unless he absolutely needed to. 

When Nicky emerges he is not nearly as disheveled as Joe expects. He's still wearing the same shirt from yesterday. His eyes look tired, even more than usual, and he is chewing at his bottom lip.

Joe bites his tongue. 

(" _Habibi," Yusuf points out to Nicolo at the gates of Constantinople. Andromache is late, either because something has happened, or she has a loose grasp of how long twenty minutes really is._

_Nicky looks up from where he is staring at the dirt beneath their feet, his bottom lip between his teeth._

_"Your lips are there for a reason. Please do not chew them off."_

_Nicky eyebrow quirks, but he relents._ _"And what is the reason?"_

_Yusuf flushes, "you tell me."_

_"I find that I enjoy showing you, instead.")_

"If I may," Nicky begins, licking his dry lips and snapping Joe from the memory of a kinder time. "And if you'd let me, I'd like to apologize."

Joe hangs his head despite himself and then stares at a crack in the ceiling just about Nicky's head as he tries to interject. "Nico-"

"You were right. _Perdonami._ I was being incredibly foolish. And worse, I was being selfish. I was not thinking. I mean, I was, but...for myself. For how _I_ needed Preshti's forgiveness."

"You weren't being selfish," Joe cuts in. _Foolish_...no, that was not the word for it either. "You were being...well, _you_. You were being Nicky." 

Nicky lets out a deep exhale through his nose. "All of this cannot just be about what I want or what I feel is right. No, we must all heal from this. _Siamo una famiglia."_

"Nicky," Joe affirms, taking a step towards him, observing that he does not recoil, and taking another two until he is close enough to feel Nicky's labored breathing; close enough to see the tear tracks on his face. "You're absolutely right. _Siamo una famiglia_. But this is about what you want and what you feel is right." 

Nicky shakes his head at that. Tears begin to spill onto the carpet. Joe does not think; he takes Nicky's wrist in his hand. They share a look that is ages old. _Perhaps that is why Nicky hasn't withdrawn his hand,_ Joe thinks. He loosens his grip slowly until the inside of index and middle fingers trace lightly up his forearm and are gone before they reach his elbow. "What can I do for you? _What must I?_ How can I make you feel-"

"There is nothing," Nicky continues shaking his head, his head hung, his voice lower than Joe can ever remember it being. "No way for me to atone without putting you at risk. Andy, Nile, or Booker...Quynh. She has already been through enough, and she will go through more. You were right. I would only be doing more harm."

"We will find a way," Joe affirms. "I will find a way. Whatever I can do, I will. _If you will let me_."

Nicky looks up at that and nods through more tears. He is now the one reach out to Joe, though his fingers graze his forearm for a second before his hand is back at his side again. " _Grazie,_ Joe _."_

.

A sense of normalcy claims the rest of the day. Joe and Nicky lounge about, a silent agreement that they need not go outside, at least not for today. The afternoon is spent mostly in their living space, where Joe binge watches a forgettable TV show on their flatscreen while Nicky seats himself on the same sofa, mere feet away, alternating between asking for plot details and marveling at the wonders of modern cinema. 

Talking fills most of their day. It is routine now for Nicky to bring up the most random of memories and then look in Joe's direction for either a confirmation or a correction. And to his credit, Nicky gets most of them right, but when Joe accidentally lets slip that he doesn't actually enjoy chamomile, or at least the German variety, Nicky sulks in a corner and bitterly says, "well, you should have told me back in Belgrade."

Andy calls them midday, with a few leads on Quynh but nothing else, so their stay in Ho Chi Minh would be a little bit longer than expected.

After a rather late lunch, Joe catches Nicky staring blankly ahead at a spot between the sofa and the coffee table.

"Nicky?" Joe asks, failing to mask his worry. 

Nicky stares at the spot a moment more, biting at the inside of his cheek. "What happened to Irsuto?"

Joe's eyebrows go towards the ceiling. " _Irsuto?_ The puppy that wandered in here eighty years ago?" He presses his lips together in a poor attempt to mask a smile. "I have some ideas."

Nicky isn't necessarily amused.

"I don't know," Joe quickly recovers. "But you saw all those dogs on the way up here, hm? Perhaps that answers part of your question."

 _Ah,_ Joe thinks as Nicky reacts. _There's a smile_. 

As the sun begins to set, Nicky suddenly asks, " _Hai fame?"_ from behind Joe. 

"I could eat," Joe shrugs from where he is reading one of Booker's first editions on the kitchen stool.

Nicky playfully rolls his eyes as comes round to Joe's line of vision. "Just say you're hungry."

 _Habibi,_ in all its exasperation, almost rolls off his tongue. Instead Joe says, "perhaps we'll order some takeout tonight, hm? Or maybe I could bring back some street food. At least let me cook."

Nicky continues to rummage through the fridge anyway, disappearing from view for a moment. 

"Oh," Nicky says suddenly as he uses his leg to shut the fridge door. He sets down an impressive array of ingredients that he definitely could have asked Joe to help him carry out as he says, "I know what you can help me with." He fishes something from his pocket, something small but thick. 

Joe raises his eyebrows. He's an old soul, yes, but even _he_ hasn't seen this in a while-

"Nile left it with me," Nicky explains, brandishing an iPod. He shrugs. "She says it is like a radio, but better. Anyway, it's beyond my level of comprehension."

He holds it out to Joe, who offers him a teasing look before extending his own hand to take the iPod, reveling in the way the tips of their fingers seem to linger on each other as he does so. Joe taps it awkwardly against his palm. "Musical therapy?" 

Nicky shrugs again as Joe realizes he can't possibly even know what that is. "I just want to tell her I did it." 

Joe forms an _"ah"_ shape with his mouth, because of course Nicky would never just lie about getting something done. 

Joe stares down at the iPod, a relic if he was being honest, and resists the urge to wonder aloud why Nile, in all her youth, would even have one in her possession. But that's a can of worms for another day. Nicky was probably still reeling from the impossibly long explanation on streaming Nile had given him days ago.

Joe brings his thumb along the circular panel. It does not take long for him to find a single playlist alongside the music library simply titled " _Nicky"._ Joe taps on it, scrolling to see tracks upon tracks of untitled music labeled only by number. Which, considering Nile has a definitive rankings of albums in meticulous order, is a bit strange. 

Pressing shuffle and leaving the iPod to vibrate on the kitchen counter, Joe recognizes the opening riff of Ella Fitzgerald's _Undecided_ as it reverberates around the kitchen. Nicky sings along with impressive memory; Joe glances up from his book once, maybe twice, to watch him.

The next track is a man expressing that he doesn't want to set the world on fire, just start a flame in his beloved's heart. 

Nicky suddenly stops where he's essentially emptying a cupboard for spices and makes a face.

"What?" Joe prods.

Nicky ignores him for a moment more, his eyes narrowing for a split second before he says, "Ink Spots?"

It takes Joe a second to realize that Nicky is naming the song's band and another second to realize that he's asking.

"Oh," Joe sputters. "Uh. Yes? Sounds like them. You were always better at remembering names," he says before he can stop himself.

Nicky looks up from where he is standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a jar of rosemary. He smiles at Joe, perhaps reminiscing of the time they had heard the song together, which Joe is fuzzy on; he is only sure that it probably involved Nicky's terrible dancing. Nicky keeps his eyes trained on Joe, his gaze dropping slightly to Joe's lips - and he trips over absolutely nothing, glass and rosemary flying. 

" _Mannaggia,_ " he exclaims, holding out his hand towards Joe immediately to say, "no, it's okay, I've got it."

Joe resettles in his stool, his leg bouncing to the closing notes of _I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire,_ watching Nicky as he bends to pick up the larger shards of glass.

The next song begins very suddenly. It's faint, almost unnoticeable in it's beginning compared to the sound of Nicky picking up the glass, but in seconds Frank Sinatra's unmistakable voice fills the room. His spite helps him recognize it so quickly because there was a time when it was Sinatra every morning, afternoon and night - Joe had grown fatigued before Nicky, if Nicky had even grown fatigued at all. 

He glances down on the iPod, tapping on the circular model in search for a title, but Nile had only labeled it _track_05._ Oh well, Nicky would most likely pin down the name.

Joe looks up to ask and finds that Nicky has not moved from where he is still crouched. Even from across the kitchen, Joe can see the wetness form in his eyes. They look like glass. 

It hits Joe then. And for lack of a better word, it hits him like a train. 

_For tears would fill my eyes_ , Sinatra sings, and Joe hears waves crash outside their home, even though they are in the heart of Kolkata. 

_My heart would realize..._

The hissing static of a vintage radio.

Joe cannot remember having made his way across the kitchen. But when he comes to, he is standing in front Nicky, still crouched, still staring down at stray pieces of rosemary in a complete daze. Joe holds his hand out, low enough that it is within Nicky's line of vision and high enough that Nicky has to reach out - and he does, letting himself be hauled up in Joe's grip.

They gaze at each other, Joe searching Nicky's eyes, for what he does not know -

Nicky's lips part. Joe can feel him shaking in his grasp. He extends his other arm, hovering it around Nicky's waist. "May I?"

Nicky nods like he absolutely needs it, like he won't have it any other way; he leans into Joe's touch before Joe can even abide by his wishes. Joe brings him in close. Nicky circles his arm so that it falls around Joe's shoulders, and that's just how they stay. It is barely a dance, more of a sway. Joe barely hears the sound of glass crunching beneath his feet, because Nicky is now pressing his forehead to Joe's, and Joe, taller by Nicky by the slightest of amounts, lowers his head to meet the touch. 

_Within my heart_ , Sinatra continues, _I know I will never start, to smile again..._

Nicky lifts his head so that he is now looking at Joe, truly taking him in for the first time in months - no, _seventy-eight years,_ Joe remembers -

"Yusuf," Nicky says, and his voice is shaking, and it is the first time he has called him that since - Joe cannot even remember - cannot think -

Nicky leans in until Joe closes his eyes and is only able to taste him as their lips crash together. 

It is an assault on his senses. Joe tastes the chai they had enjoyed, moments ago; tastes sea salt; tastes Nicolo where his lips are cracked from too much biting;

_tastes home._

_Until I smile at you,_ Sinatra finishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations:  
> Perdonami: Forgive me  
> Siamo una famiglia: we are a family  
> Irsuto: shaggy/rough/untidy (just a cute lil name for the stray puppy that made a cameo in chapter 7 lol)  
> Hai fame: you hungry?  
> Mannaggia: damn it 
> 
> Me writing a song fic in 2020? It’s more likely than you think
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this! FINALLY, am I right. Trust me, I was getting impatient too! Some things are finally coming full circle, which I am excited about. Next and the (DEFINITIVELY) final chapter deals with some final realizations between the boys as well as closure. As always, thanks for reading!


	11. all things kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Nicky work towards their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I hope you guys enjoy this final chapter. It's longer than the previous ones; I'm pretty sure its the longest in this fic but hey, it's the finale. I contemplated splitting it into two chapters but I've done that enough times, and I wanted to go out with a bang and hopefully give you guys the finale you deserve!
> 
> Some warnings for this chapter:  
> There's smut in the beginning of this chapter! Skip the first part if that's not your thing  
> not nearly as much as violence as previous chapters but talk of drowning, BRIEF talk of suicidal ideation

They fall into bed that night, impossibly; Joe voices his concerns once, twice, three times now, and Nicky hears all of them and retorts each time with, " _per favore_. I need you."

It is not the stuff of romance novels; it is quick, hard, _fast_. Their bodies react like both of them know they have a mission in hours and are going to be separated for weeks. Just like the old days.

They barely make in into the bedroom. They make a complete mess of the living space, but Joe doesn't care. He is a man wandering the desert, dying of thirst, and Nicky is the promise of water. 

They both undress and Nicky is in his lap in moments. Joe works him open like it hasn't been seventy-eight years, and when Nicky sinks down on him, Joe sees stars and tastes tears. Nicky is relentless, has always been; sets a pace that's good for both of them. " _Cristo,_ " he says as Joe fits his hands on his waist like they were meant to be there ( _they're meant to be there)._

In no time, Joe wraps his hand own hand around Nicky, his other tightening the iron grip around his waist. Nicky hands are an uncoordinated mess, one arm clawing at the skin connecting Joe's shoulder to his neck, the other next to Joe's head on the drywall behind them, steadying him. He swoops down to kiss Joe, hunger _far_ from satiated, but they have all night. 

Joe works his hand over Nicky. When Joe says, "Come for me, _habibi._ Let me feel you, after all this time," he has Nicky spilling his release over the both of them, panting over Joe's shoulder, perhaps mumbling something in return - Joe isn't sure - his heart is beating too loud-

"Inside," Nicky pleads unmistakably, "inside me."

Joe obliges - _how could he not?_ \- taking his weight off the headboard to lay Nicky on his back. His thighs, on either side of Joe's flank, steady him; Joe is sure he feels himself shaking as he stares down at Nicky, eyes flicking between where his lips are red raw from beard burn, to his eyes that are blown wide from rapture. Nicky stares back, blinks up at him, nods that he is okay, even does his part in pushing down to meet Joe's cock, urging him to chase his release. Joe does, but he is slow; agonizingly so, slower than he can ever remember of the thousands of times they have done this. 

He takes the time to drink the sight of Nicky in. Takes a mental picture, reminds himself even in the onslaught of the thoughts flooding his mind to put this to paper when they are both more decent. 

Before he can help himself he is moving faster, lost in the sea of Nicky's eyes. It is only when Nicky reaches around to grab at Joe's cheeks, to push him impossibly deeper that Joe shouts his release into the mattress, into Nicky's neck where he leaves a mark that has already disappeared by now, into fate and time and all the other things that told him he would never feel this way again, never feel Nicky like this again-

" _Yusuf?_ " Nicky presses a chaste kiss to Joe's brow bone. It must be a while that they are like this, because Nicky says next, " _Sei qui con me?"_

Joe pants through the aftershocks, shakes his head as he plunges his tongue into Nicky's mouth. He pulls away to say, "you have my heart-" kisses the corner of Nicky's mouth - "you have me, all of me-" 

Nicky lifts himself so he is propped on one elbow, his other arm curled around Joe's neck. "Sh, _hayat qalbee_ ," he says. He presses their foreheads together, the most delicate motion of the night. 

Joe pulls away, only for a moment, to burrow his head into the curve of Nicky's shoulder. Allows Nicky to still him as lies there, crushed under the weight of seventy-eight years, as he thinks to himself he could stay like this forever, buried in Nicky, in the promise that this is real.

.

Joe's eyes blink open so slowly, he cannot tell at first if the dimness of their bedroom is from the lamp they had left lit in the corner, or perhaps the sunlight finding its way in through the curtains, beckoning them awake.

Joe is grateful for once. His body is light as a feather, or at least it feels that way; he wonders how long he has left to revel in this, ecstasy in its purest form, the kind he had been denied for a lifetime, the kind he can only find in one person.

"So this is what being a morning person is all about?" he teases, rubbing his eye lazily, lets out a pleased little noise as he allows his hand to drift, to grasp at -

_empty sheets._

Panic seizes him. Of course. _Of course this was a dream._ Of course none of this could have been real.

"Nicky," he says before he can stop himself; his voice is quiet in his own ears, drowned out by the deafening pulse of his heart, "Nicolo."

He's breathing now, erratic, grasping at the sheets where Nicky's body should be-

He can barely make out Nicky's name now, his voice masked in horrible wails, his body convulsing, their bedroom now an ocean flooded with his tears-

" _Joe?"_ It sounds distant. Almost like it isn't real, but then suddenly, Nicky is in the threshold. It does little to calm Joe's breathing. 

_No,_ his mind reasons, _just another trick of the light-_

But this Nicky moves, lightning quick, knees on the mattress in seconds to circle behind Joe and pull him flush against his chest, to stroke the top of his hair with tender hands, to pepper panicked kisses into his forehead - Joe feels the warmth of his breath -

" _Hayaat qalbee,"_ Nicky is saying, panicked, _"tahdiat eaqlak. Tahdiat eaqlak."_

Joe takes Nicky's forearm in his hand and holds on for dear life. "Where - where were-"

Nicky interrupts, "I am here and you are with me. ' _Aedak._ " He kisses the top of Joe's head once more. " ' _Aedak."_

Joe's body relaxes at that, but not completely. His breathing has slowed; he tastes tears on his tongue. He breathes in, deep and slow, exhaling as he pulls Nicky down so they now sit face to face.

Nicky rolls one shoulder in apology, his face pale, his lips pressed together, white. He reaches out, a warm hand pressed to the side of Joe's face. Joe leans into the touch instinctively.

"I am sorry," Nicky says. 

"You mustn't apologize," Joe shakes his head, his voice still dripping in pitiful sobs, "I reacted...irrationally." 

Nicky now shakes his head, a jerky movement, "no, _mi amor_. I shouldn't have left without a word. I awoke with terrors. I did not want to disturb you." His thumb brushes Joe's lower lip. "I do enjoy watching you sleep."

Joe turns his head and kisses the centre of Nicky's palm. He does not ask what Nicky had dreamt of, not immediately; he has several guesses. He lets out a shaky breath to ask, "what- what did-"

"Sh," Nicky says quickly, pressing his lips to Joe's forehead. "It doesn't matter, _hayat qalbee_." 

"Does," Joe argues weakly. "D-does...what did you see?"

Nicky lets out a sigh, retracting his hand from Joe's face to rub at his eyes. "Faces. I could not recall their names, but...well, you know the rest." 

Joe stops his rubbing, lowering his hand to his own lap where he squeezes it tightly. "Tell me if you wish, and if not I will push no further. But this pain that weighs heavy on your soul. _Let me carry it with you_." 

Nicky regards him for a moment. "After you found me," he says, a quiver unmistakable in his voice, "after the...drugs had worn off...day after day, week after week, as much as I tried, I could not feel whole. And believe me, I tried. But the space, next to bed where I lay...it was too cold. And my hands, too empty. Nothing could relieve it. Gazing upon you, every day, only made it worse. It reminded me of what I could never have. Of what I didn't deserve." 

"You deserve peace," Joe says, quiet. 

"But I see red," Nicky admits. "Everywhere I go. On my hands," he brings one up to trace gently across Joe's forehead, to the centre, "where I _killed you-"_ Joe remembers the base where they had found Nile, a distant memory now, and catches Nicky's wrist, but Nicky continues in Joe's grip, moving his hand to trace lightly around the skin of Joe's neck, "where I _hurt_ you-"

" _Habibi-"_

"I never believed you could ever love me again," Nicky says. Tears begin to spill into his lap. "That you ever could. With all I have done-"

" _No,"_ Joe says, adamant. "With all they _made you do_." 

"I am here now, with you, _con la mia famiglia,_ but I am afraid, Joe. That they have compromised us. All things sacred," Nicky says, and it sounds like an echo, "all things kind."

Joe shakes his head "They could _never_. Look how much it took for them to tear us apart. Look how little for us to grow back together," he tightens his grip on Nicky's hand and hears the distant voice of Frank Sinatra. "Had I known you burned this long..." his voice trails off. He cannot finish the sentence. He is overwhelmed completely. He cannot seem to accept it, that for months on end the tears he let spill, the wounds on his soul he left untreated...Nicky, he had burned all the same. 

He finds he is suddenly holding Nicky's hand in an iron grip, tracing his knuckles with shallow breaths. He finds his voice again, barely: "After you fell...I wandered the Alps for days. I died of cold, more times that I care to remember. And Sebastien, when he suggested that perhaps we should be looking for a body...I struck him. I am not proud of it. And I still beg his forgiveness to this day. But I could not do it, Nicolo. Could not bring myself to imagine a future, another waking minute where you were not with me."

He glances up to see that Nicky's bottom lip is now quivering.

Joe continues, "But I did, because I had no choice. I cursed your god and mine. I went into every mission for seventy-eight years praying it would be the last bullet to my brain, the last knife to my chest. I shaved and cut and shaved and cut and waited for the day the wounds would stop closing. And I _never_ ," his presses a kiss to Nicky's knuckle,"I never touched another. I knew love began and ended with you."

Nicky sobs, " _Yusuf..."_

"And when you returned," Joe says before he can stop himself, " _oh, habibi_...no man's joy could compare to mine. I knew they corrupted your mind but I also knew they could have never corrupted your _soul,_ your spirit. I knew you would find your way back to me as much as I knew it would take time. To know you were suffering this much in silence; I can never forgive myself, not for this, for the train, not for any of it - so can you, habibi?"

Nicky shakes his head, tears spilling onto Joe's hands. "No, I - I cannot, Yusuf. You did what you thought was best and you, too, suffered in the process. There's nothing to forgive _."_

The air in the room is thick with heat despite the air conditioning. Joe welcomes it. He is no need for the reminder of cold. 

Joe untangles their hands, puts them gently to Nicky's face where we wipes the tears. "Let me take care of you, _habibi._ _Per favore_." 

Nicky nods in Joe's grasp and brings his lips to crush Joe's. 

They make love again that night, and again the night after that and it slower, it is impossibly better.

It is salvation, at long last. 

.

Three days later they are meeting Quynh. She is beautiful - the dreams do not do her justice. Her long black hair cascades down her back like a waterfall, her eyes are impossibly bright despite their deep, dark color, and she smiles in a way that makes Joe feel he has known her his whole life.

Booker is helping her bring her things into the house, of which there are noticeably few. She catches Joe looking and says, voice filled with honey, "You are Joe."

Joe nods in response and returns the smile, crows eyes and all, "yes. And you're Quynh. It's wonderful to meet you."

"Yes," she says. Nile stands behind her, watching the entire exchange with one corner of her lips quirked to the side. Andy stands next to her, her cheeks tinted a rosy pink. Joe reminds himself to tease her about it later.

"You're Nicky," Quynh says, gaze now redirected to Joe's side, where Nicky approaches with his hands in his pockets.

" _Si,"_ Nicky says, "together at last."

"Quynh saw you in her dreams," Andy says suddenly, voice pitched higher than usual.

"Together," Booker says, _loudly_ , from the kitchen. 

Joe and Nicky exchange a look.

_Ah._

Apart from a single raised eyebrow, Quynh does not prod them further, and they don't bring it up again after that. She simply observes them across the dinner table that night, the same way she does the rest of them. She tells them of her life in Ho Chi Minh City, of how she has no real family to return to; her brother had gotten mixed up with the underground world of smuggling, she had stepped in to help and was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. When she recalls waking up in a cage underwater, Nicky offers his hand. She takes it, immediately almost, despite the mere hours that they have known each other. 

"When I saw all your faces," Quynh says, "it propelled me towards the surface. I am not sure what to call it - at least not in English. Let's say destiny," she flashes Joe a sad smile. 

"Destiny," Joe repeats.

"I am content enough to be in your company, but Andromache-"

" _Andy_ ," Andy interjects with a full mouth.

"Andromache is a beautiful name, it would be a shame not to use it," Quynh reasons.

It renders Andy speechless; it makes Booker chortle behind his flask.

"Anyway, Andromache calls us warriors," Quynh finishes.

Nile nods towards Nicky's direction. "We fight for what we think is right."

"Ah," Quynh nods, "so you're the good guys?"

"Depends on the century," Joe offers.

As far as inductions, this is as smooth as Joe can ever remember. When he tells her the ages old story of how he and Nicky slaughtered each other an innumerable amount of times in the beginning, she chokes on the tajine Nicky had helped Joe prepare. 

When Andy follows Joe back to the kitchen with their empty plates, she whispers in an ancient language in her little brother's ear, " _that bed better be in one piece."_

.

In two months, they are in Prague. 

When Copley proposes a string of recent art thefts, Andy is quick to scoff _no_ and ignore the two succeeding calls that night, and they are all quick to agree with her. 

("Tell him to call back if he wants us to put them back where they belong," Booker says from behind his flask.)

And Copley does call back, albeit with something different altogether. A ring two hours north of the city that has no idea Copley's onto them. Quynh makes the case that they should, a speech so passionate they all look towards Joe for explanation. 

"We weren't going to disagree," Andy confirms. Her cheeks are that familiar rosy pink. 

Joe goes looking for Nile that afternoon to laugh with her about it; Andy and Booker are busy with Copley for recon, and Nicky is in the backyard with Quynh and a sword. As incredibly competent as she already is with a gun, she is also incredibly taken with Nicky's longsword and wants to learn some useful moves in preparation for when she'd get her hands on her very own.

Joe finds Nile in the backyard with them, more to the side of where they had grown little garden years ago, now in serious need of trimming. Her earphones are in, her gaze tracing the cracks in the concrete. She takes the earphones off when she feels Joe settle next to her. "Yeah? Need something?"

Joe shrugs. "Just came to bother you."

Nile rolls her eyes playfully. "Mission failed."

Joe nudges her. "What's on your mind?"

Nile heaves a sigh as she sets her phone down. She watches Nicky where he's adjusting Quynh's grip and then says, "I'm beyond happy we found her. And that things are going better than I ever could have imagined. I mean, I gave you guys hell."

"Relatively," Joe reasons.

Nile's knee brushes against his as she says, "I just...we're complete, you know? We're a family. But my mind. Sometimes it's still in Chicago."

"You want to go back," Joe reasons.

"I just know I'll never be able to live with myself if they don't know the truth."

Joe nods. "You're right, Nile. We're a family. We do so much or each other. You have done so much for me in what will be a flicker of our lifetimes. And I am entirely grateful, I always will be. We will always be here for you to return to. But we'll never decide for you. In the end, it's entirely your call. You have to know that." 

Nile nods, eyes wet. She does not thank him verbally, doesn't need to, just nudges against him affectionately. 

They sit together for a while longer, watching Quynh and Nicky spar before Joe suddenly reaches into his pocket. "I thought you'd want this back," he says, digging for the iPod.

Nile's eyebrows raise when Joe holds it towards her. "I told Nicky he could keep it."

Joe laughs. "Did you tell him it was practically junk when you gave it to him?"

"It is _not-"_ she pokes him, _roughly -_ "it's vintage. And you should be thanking me."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Track number five, eh?"

Nile blanks. _"....yes,"_ she says slowly.

Joe blinks back. "'I'll Never Smile Again'?"

"Literally, I have no idea what you're talking about," Nile says.

Joe can't help it. He's gone on long enough trying not to sound like the "boomers" Nile speaks of. "You've never heard of Frank Sinatra?"

"Of course I have," Nile returns. "Nicky, he sings a lot. _Badly_. A lot of stuff I used to remember my grandma would sing under her breath. I'm no shrink, but I thought if he heard the songs, well...whatever memories he'd have associated with them, they'd come flooding back. That's why I put Sinatra on Nicky's playlist. Him and every other singer I could've thought of before...you know."

She doesn't bring up the year Nicky had gone missing, and Joe is thankful for it amongst the other things.

But his head still floods with questions-

"Wait," Nile breaks out into a smile. "Did a Sinatra song make you two suck face? Don't answer, by the way."

Joe flushes.

Nile is shaking her head when she says, "I had no underlying intentions, but Nicky's right, you know. You see the poetry in everything." 

.

A week after the job, they disband, agreeing to meet again when they can all agree on the next endeavor Copley has in store for them. 

It's not an easy choice, but Nile voices it nonetheless - her desire to return to Chicago and tell her family the truth. Andy warns her that it will be easier for them to believe she is dead now than for her to watch all of them grow old without her, but Nile has made her decision, and so there is no question. She leaves first and Booker goes with her, earning him looks. 

("They'll believe her when she shows up with a Napoleonic soldier," he reasons. "Oh, and moral support, too.")

For Joe and Nicky, they exchange a look that has meaning only to them.

_Malta._

It comes as no surprise, not even to Quynh, who Joe is sure Andy had filled in when he was not around.

Andy and Quynh go from Prague, towards where even they don't know yet. As they part ways, Joe brings his lips to sister's ear in the same ancient dialect. " _Don't break the bed."_

The entire plane ride, they elect to speak in Arabic; Nicky has countless questions about the commercialization of plane travel that Joe is so sure wouldn't fail to confuse the passengers around them. 

Their little stone cottage by the sea is no more, which comes as no surprise. Wether it was bought, torn down, remodeled, Joe does not know, nor do he and Nicky mind really, they deicide as they stand in the lobby of a five-star, Nile's iPod in Nicky's back pocket.

The young woman who checks them in is friendly, the type to make conversation not out of obligation, and asks them what brings them to Gozo. 

Nicky breaks out into an absurd smile. "We're honeymooning." 

He's entirely wrong, but Joe does little aside from subtly shooting him an incredulous look as the receptionist coos. This could turn into a honeymoon, _easily_ ; perhaps they'll see how the week goes. 

" _Honeymooning_?" Joe repeats when they settle into their villa.

"They'll move us to the front of the line at dinner tonight and probably throw in some free cake, too. _You're welcome_ , " Nicky reasons. 

.

The air is thick with Mediterranean heat. The coolness of the ocean does more than enough to compensate, licking at them where they sit by the rocks, Nicky nuzzled between Joe's legs, back to his front, Joe's chin resting atop Nicky's head. 

"Any word from Andy?" Joe asks, rubbing his thumb over the back of Nicky's hand.

He feels Nicky's body shake from a giggle.

"Oh, the same," he says, "that if we dare to get married without her or the others around, we're off the team."

Joe laughs into Nicky's hair. "You'd think she'd be tired of us by now."

"Perhaps," Nicky replies, bringing to mind the countless times they would marry one another with nothing but words and promises. That was another discussion, longer than most, the one where Joe explained to Nicky that there love could be celebrated in ways thought impossible before Nicky fell. 

"But this is different, _hayat qalbee_ , no?"

Joe kisses the top of his head in agreement.

They observe the silence, what little of it there is with the waves crashing by them, for a minute before Nicky suddenly tenses in Joe's hands.

Joe traces circles into his forearms. "A memory, habibi?"

Nicky nods, a gentle thing against Joe's chest.

"Good or bad?" Joe says, stroking his forearm now.

"Good," Nicky reassures. "Good," he repeats, but not to Joe in particular. 

Joe does not stop stroking him. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

Nicky does not immediately reply. Joe doesn't push. There is no real need. And for the first time in a long while, there is no rush.

"Later," Nicky settles on, leaning back against Joe. "Let this moment belong to us in its entirety." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations:  
> per favore: please  
> Cristo: Christ  
> Sei qui con me? : are you here with me?  
> con la mia famiglia: with my family  
> tahdiat eaqlak: calm your mind  
> 'Aedak: I promise
> 
> I hope this is a satisfying conclusion for you guys and not just word vomit c: this fic started as a literal covid-induced fever dream (if you've been with me since the beginning: i'm MUCH better now, thankfully!) and turned into a 30k+ word dump. But idk, I think I did an okay job with applying TWS into this verse and I might come back to it in the future. 
> 
> Thank you thank you THANK you, I can't thank you guys enough for giving this story a chance and having the kindness to leave comments and kudos. I never would have been able to finish this story had it not been for all of you! Hope I did the AU justice.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️


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